Titanfall: New Frontiers
by A51
Summary: A story of a young IMC pilot and his journey through the battlefields of Titanfall. Allies will be made and some will be lost. Rated M for explicit language and violence. Reader discretion is advised.
1. Chapter 1

September 17, 13:26 Hours

"Movement, that's what keeps you alive. Training, that's what keeps you prepared. Determination, that's what makes you deadly." Drill Instructor Morrissey's words repeated themselves, like a mantra, through Cpl. Spencer's head as he ran for his life. Training doesn't prepare someone to take on a squad of Titans. Neither does it train someone to outrun the hulking machines. Spencer was smaller, more mobile, and he used this to his advantage. It was the only thing that kept him alive so far.

A few hours ago he and four other pilots were defending a bridge that connected the outskirts of the area that led to the large metropolitan heart of the city. They were tasked with supporting the two squads of infantry that were in the area. They had deployed in their own Titans, holding off the Frontier Militia's invasion forces. They had successfully defended the bridge as the area was evacuated, up until the point where the Militia sent in their own Titans. Spencer and his squadmates soon found themselves outnumbered three to one. They took down a majority of the Militia forces and their Titans but eventually had to fall back. Spencer elected to stay behind until his teammates had made it across the bridge to safety. Spencer fought in a four to one fight, taking one of his combatants down before being forced to initiate a nuclear overload in his Titan's power core, forcing him to eject from his doomed Titan. At the range his Titan overloaded he was sure he caught the others in the massive explosion. The corporal had hoped it would of been enough to stop or at least slow down the enemy Titans. However, Cpl. Spencer had to fight his way through several Militia fire teams that had gotten past him whilst he was preoccupied with combating the other Titans. By the time he had cleared the Militia fire teams, the hostile Titans had caught up, weapons trained on the young pilot.

Bullets whizzed past him as he ran for his life, kicking up large clouds of dust and asphalt as the explosive rounds impacted the ground around him. He saw an alleyway to the right up ahead of him. He put his worn body into overdrive as he kicked his jump kit into full power. He directed the energy to the right, as he neared the alley, sending Spencer tumbling down the narrow space. Spencer rolled mid tumble keeping his momentum as he approached a dead end. Ahead of him was some sort of building with a flimsy looking door.

_'If I get enough momentum, I can probably ram right through that.'_ Spencer thought. However, not wanting to risk death in the event that he was wrong, he quickly shouldered his R-101C without losing stride. He fired off the last fifteen rounds in his weapon to the center of the door. The wood splintering and cracking as the 8.19mm rounds punched through the door and out the other side, leaving golf ball sized holes in their wake. Spencer threw all his weight and momentum into the weakened door, smashing through the door and into a small back room, obliterating the door in the process.

Spencer quickly jumped to his feet, to which his body protested. His entire body was worn out, muscles screaming in agony. He wanted nothing more than to just lie on the floor, however he didn't have that luxury. While the Titans wouldn't be able to fit down the narrow alleyway, nothing was stopping the pilots inside the Titans from jumping out and coming to kill him. Spencer couldn't rest, not until he knew he was safe. As he begrudgingly rose to his feet and made his way to the door across the room that led into the rest of the building, he unsheathed his knife, prepared for a possible confrontation. Spencer eased open the door, knife gripped with the blade facing the floor.

Inside he found a gruesome scene, several dead soldiers lay at the bottom of a stairwell. Their green and orange uniforms stained a deep red. The walls, ceiling and floor had blood splatters, along with a twisted, damaged wood floor, warped and scorched from where a grenade had gone off. Body parts of some poor individuals were strewn about the place as well,. Aside from the corpses and bullet shells, nothing of use was to be found. The corporal grunted in dissatisfaction as he surveyed the scene. Spotting a set of stairs Spencer adjusted his grip on his knife, as he headed up two by two, trying to be as quiet as possible, in case he was not alone. Radio chatter blared through his helmet as he climbed the rather lengthy flight of stairs:

"GUARDIAN ACTUAL, MY SQUAD IS DEAD! MY ENTIRE SQUAD IS DEAD, REQUESTING SUPPORT!"

"Request denied, a friendly fire team is nearby. Attempt to link up with them."

"Victor 2-3, this is Saber 6-1, friendlies deploying to your west, hold your fire."

"Affirmative 6-1, holding fi- OH SHIT GET DOW—"

"Victor 2-3, This is Saber 6-1, come in, over… Victor 2-3, respond…"

"Alpha 2-2, this is Saber 6-1, be advised, Victor 2-3 is not responding, possible hostile presence within your AOD, over."

"Affirmative 6-1."

"ENEMY TITANS ARE OVERRUNNING OUR POSITION, WHERE THE HELL IS OUR PILOT SUPPORT?!"

"Saber 6-1, this is Knight 1-4, please advise, my Titan is in dire need o—"

Spencer cut his radio off, it was distracting, as well as disheartening, his allies were getting their respective behinds handed to them on a silver platter, and there was nothing he could do to help. Besides, Spencer needed his head clear, he needed to be focused. Anything could be waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

As Spencer reached the top he was met with a long hallway that branched out to his right and left. Upstairs faired no different from the scene downstairs, however, uniforms of both white and green were strewn about, along with several dead specter combat drones. Spencer picked through the dead looking for anything useful but to no avail. He continued his slow, careful stalk and search until he came across a rare sight.

At the end of the left hallway was a dead pilot with a spent R-101C off to his side, barrel still smoking, and a Smart Pistol MK5 held in a death grip. The pilot sat slumped against the wall body riddled with bullets, the wall behind him a sea of pockmarks. Cpl. Spencer carefully went to the dead pilot, poking his knife into the pilot's trachea, just in case the pilot wasn't dead. When the pilot showed no response, he quickly went to work releasing the weapon from its currently deceased owner. The corporal kept his head on a swivel, constantly checking and rechecking the hallway. Just because the pilot was dead didn't mean it wasn't a trap. Many of the windows were big enough for someone to easily jump through, and perfect for a pilot to enter the building and get the drop on the currently preoccupied corporal.

After a few moments of literally prying something from someone's cold dead hands, Spencer was finally armed. Well… somewhat, the weapon only had ten shots left in the magazine, not ideal, but better than nothing. Spencer crept over to the window to take a look at his surroundings.

The Titans that were pursuing him were no longer visible, however the sound of their stomping and the earth shaking vibrations were still present. Their deep rumbles almost drowning out the sound of the battle taking place in the rest of the city and surrounding areas. This only offered a small reprieve, it gave him a spark of hope. He might be able to survive if he laid low and snuck his way through the area. Spencer glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was sneaking up on him. He then quickly turned back to make a tentative plan that would lead him out of the area and away from the Titans.

_'A jump out of this window, roll behind the truck, dash across the street, jump into the second story window, run out the other side of the building, jump to the nearest rooftop and use the hei—' _Cpl. Spencer thought before the sound of a door creaking open echoed from behind him. Spencer whipped around on his heel, Smart Pistol trained on the offending door. A surprised face peered from the crack in the slightly ajar doorway before zipping away and slamming the door. Spencer moved for the door as the sound of movement echoed up from downstairs.

He breached the door as his kick connected with the wood and steel door forcing it open and slightly bending the frame.

Cpl. Spencer weaved into the room weapon at the ready, his body coiled into a deadly spring of energy, prepared for the worst. His weapon quickly pointed to a group of figures within the middle of the small office room. Spencer's weapon however, failed to lock on as a deep Australian accented voice called out. "Friendlies! Don't shoot!" The man yelled as he raised his hands, weapon falling limp against his chest, suspended by his weapon's sling.

Spencer lowered his weapon and relaxed but only slightly. He looked to the group of soldiers, grunts as they were commonly referred to. They looked like they had just been through hell and back, most of them were wounded, and those who were not were tending to the injured. Spencer then turned to have a quick look around the room. Militia computers and equipment was stocked in the room. _'Well that would explain all the dead Militia...'_ Spencer thought to himself. He then turned back to the grunt standing before him, who had lowered his arms now that Cpl. Spencer wasn't going to shoot him.

"What happened here?" Spencer asked, turning to the man before him, who was scratching at his bandaged side.

The grunt looked up from his wound to regard the pilot, "A pilot," The grunt motioned to the hallway, "and two squads of our grunts had led an assault on a spy cell. Turns out, soon as the Militia launched their assault, they turned into a small command post." The grunt grumbled and let out a sigh, beginning to pick at his wound again before speaking once more. "Anyways, the blokes were decked out. Armed to the teeth. The pilot did most of the work, but we helped out too... Poor bastard… gave his life watchin' our backs while we pulled as much data as we could from these here Militia computers." He said, trailing off and gazing around the room. The grunt spoke again, "When we heard Titans we holed up in here... Anyways, we managed to pull everything onto an external hard drive, it should be over there, on the table." The grunt motioned to where a table and several weapons were propped up against the far wall of the room. Spencer strode over to the table and found a small black box, he pocketed the item in one of his many, now empty, ammunition pouches. He then picked up a spare R-101C which was thankfully fully loaded.

Cpl. Spencer looked over his shoulder as he stowed away extra magazines for his weapon. "Anyone downstairs?" He asked thinking back to the sounds he heard downstairs earlier.

"Nah mate… not that I know of… why?" The grunt responded, looking to the pilot.

At this the corporal frowned, "We might have a problem. I'll check it out, don't come out of this room no matter what. Lock the doors, try to wait till things calm down before you try and get out of here." Spencer said as he strode across the room, now standing in front of the door, he glanced over his shoulder again, staring at the grunt. "Got it?"

"Y-yeah… yes sir."

"Good." Spencer replied before quickly facing the door and silently opening it, stepping out into the hallway. He closed the door with a silent click and carefully made his way back to the staircase. Soon Cpl. Spencer was standing at the top of the upstairs stairwell where he looked down the stairs to see a Militia pilot staring back at him. The two were frozen, staring each other down, the orange glow of the Militia pilot's faceplate, illuminating a small space around him in the dim downstairs lighting.

Not wanting to see where the stare-down would lead, Spencer bolted down the hall, full sprint. The other pilot chasing behind him. Spencer whipped out his smart pistol, and switched off the munitions targeting system, he did not have time to wait for the handgun to locks on it's shots. Spencer fired off three bullets behind him as he jumped out the closest window. The corporal activated his jump kit at the apex of his arc, giving him the extra propulsion to make it into the building next door's third floor window. Spencer caught on to the ledge but his exhausted body was slow in hauling him up and into the building while gave the other pilot time to catch up. As Spencer finally managed to pull himself into the building he began to run forward again. However, the floor ended abruptly in front of him.

Where the rest of the floor for the third story hallway should be was a massive hole. The entire side of the building was missing, exposing the inner hallways and rooms to the shopping center and streets below. Cpl. Spencer didn't have time to consider an alternate route as a heavy force collided with him from behind, knocking him and his attacker to the hallway on the second floor.

Spencer slammed into the ground chest first, landing on a pile of rubble, knocking the wind out of him in the process. The Militia pilot landed on top of Spencer, preventing the corporal from rising. Spencer soon found himself in a choke hold, neck locked in between the elbows of the other pilot. Spencer grunted in a fit of rage, _'I did NOT come this far to die like this!'_ He screamed internally, firing off his jump kit at full force, severely burning the Militia pilot. The Militia pilot released Spencer, snapping up in a yelp of agony that transitioned into a deep roar of primal anger. Spencer too, jumped to his feet, arms up and ready for a fight.

The Militia pilot swung out in fit of rage, swinging wide, aiming for Spencer's head. Spencer ducked under the extremely telegraphed attack and answered with a series of jabs to the pilot's chest and abdomen. The pilot screamed out as his tender, burned flesh took a series of blows. Spencer ducked under a left jab the pilot threw out in response, only to place himself in a collision course with the pilot's knee.

The force of the impact snapped his head back with a resounding crack, as knee guard met helmet. Spencer was dazed only for a moment, but that proved more than enough time for the Militia pilot to rain blows upon Spencer, laughing maniacally the entire time. The corporal regained his composure as he blocked one of the Militia pilot's punches. Rising with an uppercut followed by a quick sweep of the leg, Spencer managed to knock the Militia pilot off his feet. Spencer pounced the Militia pilot, pinning the other man to the floor. This fight was over.

Spencer snatched his Smart Pistol from where it had been holstered, putting it to the side of the other pilot's head. Spencer pulled the trigger, causing blood and bits of brain, skull and helmet blow out the large exit wound on the other side of the Militia pilot's head. Spencer cleaned a bit of blood that had sprayed onto his visor.

Spencer threw his head back and sighed, "Oh God… I hate hand-to-hand combat.." He said to himself before holstering his Smart Pistol and clambering off of the twitching corpse. Spencer switched his radio back on, as he dusted himself off, staggering into the nearest room. After a quick sweep of hostiles that turned up negative, he sat down in the most comfortable looking chair in the room. He looked out of a massive window that dominated an entire wall of the room. It overlooked a large, well maintained park with a small outlet of stores. If it weren't for the empty, evacuated atmosphere, or the sounds of war, this place would have been a peaceful, beautiful place. Spencer sat in silence. He was battered, bruised and exhausted, and reveled in the moment of rest. Spencer sat gazing out the window for some time, watch the branches of the trees sway in the wind. Eventually Spencer rose to his feet, feeling a bit more rested.

Cpl. Spencer placed his right hand to the side of his helmet, pressing the radio receiver's buttons. He flipped through multiple channels until he tuned in to the channel designated to his squad.

"…Watch out, MCOR grunts on your 9 o'clock."

"Got it… threat neutralized."

"Torrento, covering fire, I'm moving across the street. Headed towards the data tower."

"One sec' gotta six this Titan…"

"Don't worry Fannuchi, I got your back, go for it."

Spencer listened intently, from the sound of things, his squad had made it out okay. The sound of battle was distant, but not too far off, perhaps three, four city blocks at most. He smiled, his squad was close enough for him to link back up. He moved into another room, sweeping the room and checking his corners. The room he entered had another large window, common of most of the buildings in the city. This window overlooked a large three way intersection, littered with abandoned vehicles, some of them with doors ajar. Spencer crouched down as a group of Militia grunts ran by in the streets below. When they didn't turn to look at him, he stood back up and watched them continue down the block. _'They're probably reinforcements for that data tower…'_ Spencer mused, then he looked to their weapons. _'Uh oh… Archer Rocket Launchers… I should probably let my squad know.'_ He concluded, reaching up to turn his microphone on. However, as he did so he noticed the looming shadow cast into the room.

He slowly turned to the window to look down the barrel of a 40mm Cannon, wielded by a Green Ogre class Titan. Spencer visibly cringed at the sight and gulped before muttering a nervous, "Oh shit…" Inside the Ogre Spencer just knew it's pilot was grinning like a madman. For the second time today Spencer escaped certain death as he activated his jump kit, throwing himself across the room, narrowly avoiding the massive bullet that tore a man sized hole in the floor. As Spencer dove to the floor he switched on his microphone, throwing out a fist sized emergency beacon. "I'M UNDER FIRE FROM A HOSTILE OGRE, NEED SUPPORT NOW!" He barked into the mic.

"Oh, what?! Damn man, thought you were dead!" Came back a response. Spencer recognized the voice as his childhood friend Alex Gomez.

"I'm about to be, if you don't get your ass over here!" Spencer shot back.

"Yeah… hang on man, I'm activating my dash core now. Be there in a sec'." Gomez responded, before the transmission ended.

Cpl. Spencer got up as he dashed out the room and bolted down the hall he fell into, bullets chasing him on the way out. As the pilot strode down the hall in large bounding steps, bullets obliterated the space behind him. Spencer was finding himself out of hallway to run down and fast. Sweat started to pour down his face and his mind started to race as he neared the end of the hallway. _'Ohshitohshitohshit! This is it!'_ Spencer thought as he ground to a halt and shut his eyes. He flinched as a loud bang emitted from the Ogre. However, he was not in excruciating agony, or dead. Curiosity forced him to open his eyes when he heard the sound again.

Much to Spencer's delight, he watched as a tall, lanky, almost skeletal, white Stryder class Titan rear its fist back and strike out at the Ogre. The Ogre dashed backwards, narrowly avoiding the Stryder's third punch. The Ogre then replied with a trio of 40mm Cannon shots fired in rapid succession, the rounds making a loud popping sound as they impacted the Stryder's energy shield.

The Stryder returned fire with its own weapon. It wielded the XOTBR-16 Heavy Chaingun, essentially an oversized belt fed Light Machine Gun. The Stryder emptied the entire sixty round drum in a matter of seconds. The 20mm slugs chewing through what remained of the Ogre's shield. The Stryder then dashed back and around a corner as it reloaded the massive weapon.

The Ogre, now with a larger threat on its hands, reloaded its own weapon, and pursued the Stryder. However, as the Ogre reached the corner of the street, the Stryder came around from behind. Blue flames and exhaust trailed the Stryder as it dashed back around the block. The Stryder opened fire again, half of the weapon's magazine striking the Ogre before it managed to turn around and defend itself.

Several 40mm rounds slammed into the Stryder, quickly depleting the Titan's shields. Spencer took advantage of the situation, unclipping the Sidewinder Anti-Titan weapon. It fired micro-rockets in a fast, fully automatic fashion, and he still had half a magazine of ammunition left for the weapon. Cpl. Spencer lept out the window, firing his Sidewinder the entire time. The rockets streaked towards the Ogre, explosive warheads warping and charring the Titan's armor, and damaging the mech's systems underneath.

Spencer landed with a roll as he threw the empty weapon away. The Ogre was beginning to smoke and spark as the Stryder and the other Titan exchanged shots. The Stryder, while it was more agile and had dodged many of the Ogre's shots was suffering from the sheer power and lack of armor when the rounds did manage to hit. At this point the battle could go either way, Spencer needed to shift the tide before things went south.

Spencer jumped up, activating his jump kit at the apex of his arc, landing atop the Ogre before clambering towards the rear of the machine. Gomez in his Stryder, started firing in slower, more accurate bursts, in fear of hitting Spencer with a stray bullet. Meanwhile, Spencer ripped the access hatch off of the Ogre. Normally used for ease of access to the machine's power core control and hydraulics system for field tune-ups or repairs. However, this was also a weak point, which Spencer was about to exploit.

Spencer shouldered his R-101C, but before he could fire the weapon he had to readjust his grip as the Ogre dashed to the side, moving erratically, trying to dislodge the pilot. "No free rides, asshole!" A female voice called out through the Ogre's external speakers.

Spencer readjusted his rifle and depressed the trigger, "Fuck you, bitch…" he chuckled, emptying the rifle's entire magazine. Just then he was flung from the Titan, entire body screaming silently. From the ground he was convulsing upon, Spencer watched as electricity and smoke billowed from the Ogre. Spencer gritted his teeth as he struggled against his unresponsive, spasming muscles. "Spencer you okay?!" the corporal heard in his head, it sounded distant, unfocused, yet everywhere at the same time. He could only groan in response. Spencer's senses slowly returned to him, his short range radio was damaged, allowing him to hear both sides of the conflict's chatter. Spencer dismissed this however, a splitting headache taking priority. He watched on in a dazed stupor as he slowly stood up, his muscles finally acting as he commanded them to. He watched as the Stryder emptied another clip at point blank, heavily damaging the Ogre.

Just then the Ogre burst into flames, followed by an explosion and a sound of pressurized air escaping. The Ogre pilot had ejected from her doomed Titan. Spencer had just enough sense to activate his stimulant system, a cocktail of adrenaline and steroids coursing through his veins. A wave of euphoria washed over him as he was chemically cured of his debilitating system shock.

Spencer snapped his weapon up, following the smoke trail of the ejection seat, scanning the skies for the enemy pilot. However, they were nowhere to be found. "Gomez, stay sharp, that pilot's cloaked." Spencer called out through his damaged radio. Spencer ran into an overhang of a nearby building, making himself less of a target for the ejected pilot. He waited, with no sign of the pilot he turned his attention to the pair of Titans. The Ogre, still ablaze, was wildly firing its weapon, making jerky movements as its Auto-Titan Operating System struggled to control the dying behemoth. Eventually the power core went supercritical, the Ogre seeming to radiate a hot white before collapsing on itself then blowing up like a massive fragmentation grenade.

Spencer flinched away from the explosion, raising his left arm to shield himself from the explosion. "Alright! Nice work Gomez." Spencer cheered.

He looked to the Stryder as the hatch opened and Gomez jumped out, his Stryder switching into Auto-Titan mode. Gomez jogged over to where Spencer was, scanning the environment for the recently ejected pilot.

Once Gomez reached the corporal he looked him over. "Damn man… you look like hell." He spoke out.

"It's been a rough day." Spencer chuckled with a small sigh.

"Yeah man, day isn't over yet though…" Gomez said, adjusting his Assault harness.

"Unfortunately."

They shared a short, dry laugh. Soon a loud boom, followed by the iconic crackling of air-break thrusters of a Titan being deployed filled the air, followed by another and another. Gomez's Stryder walked a bit closer, tracking the Titans as they streaked towards the earth. "Alert: Enemy Titan deployment detected. We are outnumbered three to one." His Stryder blared over the external speakers.

"Hey, can you get me eyes on?" Gomez asked as he climbed back into his Titan.

"Sure thing, buddy." Spencer replied, moving out of cover, jumping then using his jump kit to propel him onto the rooftop of a nearby building. Once on the rooftop he moved to a good vantage point, using his helmet's built in binoculars. "Alright, they got… three Atlases, Quad Rockets and XOTBR-16s. About… uh, 200 meters or so away." Cpl. Spencer relayed to Gomez. Spencer couldn't even hear Gomez's response as his radio intercepted the Militia radio chatter.

"…Bishop, you okay? Heard you had some problems." Spencer's radio intercepted.

"Yeah I'm fine." A female voice replied, Spencer recognized the voice, it belonged to the pilot from the Ogre. "These guys have a Stryder."

"That it?" A third voice came over the radio. The voice was gruff, older sounding, angrier.

"No, there is a pilot on foot as well." The female voice, Bishop replied. "That asshole is mine." She said anger lacing her voice like venom.

"Aww… what happened he not call you back after the first date?" The younger male voice chided.

"Bishop? On a date? Please… we all know Bishop's sex life is nonexistent." A third voice joked, to which the two younger male voices laughed.

"That motherfucker wrecked my Ogre. Assholes." Bishop growled.

Spencer shook his head, looking to the streets to where Gomez had positioned his Stryder within an intersection. "Hey, I'm going to set some det-charges, cover me." Spencer called, taking one last look at the approaching Titans before leaping from his vantage point and to the streets below. He placed several detonation charges along the street and vehicles in strategic places.

"Alright, calling down my Titan," Spencer stated to Gomez as he switched his radio to the Command and Deployment channel. "Saber Actual, this is Omega 5-1."

"Omega 5-1, this is Saber Actual, go ahead." An older voice replied, it belonged to Lieutenant Arnold Durrett, he was in command of Titan and Specter deployment in this area.

"Saber Actual, this is Omega 5-1, requesting deployment of a Atlas Class Titan to my position, also requesting an ammunition drop."

"And would you like fries with that, 5-1?" Durrett joked. Spencer chuckled. "Don't worry 5-1, I've put your request through. Good hunting, Saber Actual out."

"Omega 5-1, this is Saber 1-1, standby for Titanfall."

Spencer looked as a marker displayed on his flickering Heads Up Display, alerting Spencer to where his Titan would land. Spencer looked to the sky as a fireball followed by a thick plume of white smoke streaked towards the ground. He heard the airbrake thrusters fire off in rapid succession a few hundred feet from the ground, before they detached from the Titan just before it struck the earth. The Atlas landed in a crouch, a XOTBR-16 attached to its back by magnetism. The Titan's deployment bubble shield kicked on as a massive cloud of dust was kicked up and the world shook from the impact.

Spencer rushed to his Titan, sliding between its legs, the Titan gently scooping him up and placing him into the cockpit as he cleared the Atlas' legs. "Transferring controls to Pilot. Welcome back, sir." Spencer's Titan's Operating System greeted him in a warm British accent.

"Hello, Jeeves, we are going to have a bit of fun, you and I." Spencer said, flicking various switches and buttons as the front hatch locked into place, the digital viewport flickering to life.

"Very well, sir." Jeeves replied. "Alert: I'm detecting hostile Titans, we are outnumbered three to two."

"I'm aware of that, Jeeves." Spencer said running a quick systems check. Cpl. Spencer then switched back to his squad's radio channel. "Alright Gomez, lets concentrate our fire, stay mobile, communicate. We've got this."

"Alright, lets get this over with." Gomez huffed back. His voice suddenly perked up, "This is going to be one heck of a battle! They aren't going to stand a chance."

"Alert: Hostile Titans closing in on out position. 70 meters and closing." Jeeves warned Spencer. 'Alright… lets do this…' Spencer thought as he repeated the mantra.

"Movement, that's what keeps you alive. Training, that's what keeps you prepared. Determination, that's what makes you deadly."

"Determination." He muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

September 17, 15:12 Hours

Muffled thuds and faint vibrations. Thats all you feel when you pilot a Titan. Spencer was ecstatic that he was back in the saddle, piloting a Titan again. He felt safe, protected, powerful. Knowing you could take a beating and give a thrashing, thats what he loved. The power. But power is a trivial aspect to dwell upon. With your enemy armed with the same equipment, and with just as much availability, the fate of battle crashes upon the individual. It comes down to a person's training, their will to live, their drive, determination. Those who lacked these traits in ample quantities often found themselves dead, at the worst, or captured or injured. Or they put their allies or the mission at jeopardy, something inexcusable. However, Spencer need not worry about these, he was plenty determined, well trained—granted he had little experience, being a rookie—but he showed promise none the less.

"Alert: Hostile Titans closing in on our position. 25 meters and closing." Jeeves warned. Spencer directed his weapon in the general direction he assumed the Militia Titans would approach from. He flicked a small button on his command console, a small blip showing on the display that the weapon's safety had been switched off and the XOTBR-16 was now armed. Spencer then clicked on his helmet microphone.

"Alright, here they come, remember: I'll try to catch one of them with the det' charges I placed." Spencer spoke as he walked his Titan around the corner of a building, waiting in ambush. "Hopefully, we take out one of the Titans with the charges and the others get caught in the blast. If we can take out one with the charges and damage the others in the explosion, we should be able to take down the other two no problem." Spencer finished as he finished positioning himself behind a large office building that sat on top of a small cafe.

"Alright, gotcha." Gomez replied curtly.

"Alert: Hostile Titans are engaging a friendly Titan." Jeeves blared over Spencer's internal speakers. Muffled staccato reports and disorienting thuds coming from nearby. subconsciously tightened the grip on his control yokes, sinking a little lower into his seat as a grimace etched itself into his face.

"Gomez, eyes on?" Spencer asked, to which a small window appeared in the corner of his display, showing Gomez's Strider engaging three Titans. Gomez's strider had a field of rockets and bullets suspended in front of him, caught within his Titan's vortex shield. Spencer noticed as Gomez fired off the cluster of munitions, that as the Militia Titans dashed away from the danger, they placed themselves within the blast radius of Spencer's explosive charges.

Spencer quickly clicked in his killswitch detonator, causing the explosive charges to release their volatile payload. An entire section of a building crumbled down as several cars and trucks exploded, catching two of the three Titans within it's blast. One of the Titans took the brunt of the explosion, going supercritical almost instantaneously, the pilot unfortunately did not have enough time to eject. The Titan's powercore overload taking the operator with it, as it imploded, crumpling upon itself before spewing metal wreckage and bits of flesh in every direction. The second Titan, while faring better than its ally, was still not too far off. Entire sections of armor were sheared off, the hulking behemoth was also covered in soot and grey dust. The machine sparked heavily and struggled to move fluidly, however it still fired its weapons, markedly with less precision, its attacks fueled by anger.

Spencer dashed from his hiding spot, slamming his Atlas into the burning mass of one of the remaining Militia Titans. The impact of the charge causing the hostile Atlas to stagger sideways before turning to face a hail of 20mm rounds fired at point blank. The Militia Atlas also returned fire, the rounds crashing into Spencer's energy shield. The rounds of Spencer's weapon tore through the weakened armor as if it was paper. Spencer continued to fire until the firing mechanism on his XOTBR-16 locked back, its magazine spent. The enemy Titan being unable to take anymore abuse began to shut down, the telltale glow of a titan going supercritical emitting from the core of the machine. The Militia pilot promptly ejected from his doomed Atlas, just as the machine detonated. Spencer's shield managing to catch the brunt of the point blank explosion, the force of which sent his Titan stumbling backwards.

"Gomez, two Titans down. I'm on my way to help you with that last Tit—" Spencer began before being cut off by his Atlas's Operating System.

"Alert: Friendly pilot has ejected from their Titan." Jeeves quipped. The lack of emotion in his butler-like voice betraying the gravity of the situation. Spencer turned to see a finger of smoke reaching into the air as a white, now blackened, Stryder burst into flames. The Militia Atlas that doomed the Stryder, reared its fist back as it plunged its metal gauntlet into the vacant cockpit of the Stryder, causing the nimble machine to shudder and fall backwards as its internal systems were ripped out.

"Sorry man, had to eject, those Quad Rockets did a number on my Titan." Gomez said with a grunt as he landed on the rooftop of a nearby building.

"Don't worry I'll get him. Be careful one of the pilots ejected, they must be around here somewhere." Spencer said as he reloaded his Titan's weapon.

"Gotcha." Gomez replied before snapping his radio off.

Spencer watched as the Militia Titan before him reloaded its Quad Rocket launcher, towering over the burning wreckage of his ally's Titan. The green behemoth was decorated in war paint, fierce intimidating designs and tally marks covered the machine. "Gotta hand it to you, you IMC boys know your stuff." A gruff older voice boomed from the external speakers fitted to the Titan. "But I got some news for you, I too, know my stuff. And I'm about to rip you out that Titan, boy." The voice growled.

Cpl. Spencer flicked his own external speaker on. "That sure is some big talk for someone who just had three of his teammates Titan's destroyed." Spencer chided, a hint of malicious humor creeping into his words.

"You destroyed a bunch of Rookies, besides, _I_ am no rookie." The voice boomed, as it finished reloading its Quad Rocket. Shouldering the massive weapon before firing off a salvo of warheads.

Spencer dodged the telegraphed attack with ease. He also began to rejoice as the time they had spent bantering had allowed his shields to begin their recharging sequence. Spencer depressed the trigger on his control yoke, the XOTBR-16 his Titan wielded spitting hot, angry fingers of death at his opponent. Vibrations racked Spencer's machine as the weapon's recoil fought in protest to the bullets it was coughing out. Spencer watched on in triumph as the much quicker bullets ripped into the Militia Atlas' shield, which crackled and rippled with each round it took, before overloading and winking out of existence.

Spencer moved to dodge another incoming salvo of rockets only to place himself within the collision course of another. Spencer grunted as the explosions depleted his shields and washed over to damage his Titan. "Warning: Hull integrity at 83%. I've sustained minor damage to the hydraulics system." Jeeves informed Spencer as he fired off another burst of bullets. Spencer quickly dumped the empty Magazine before rifling through his Atlas' massive ammunition pouches and slamming home another drum of bullets. Spencer dodged again managing to get half of his bullets to hit his target, which was also evading. They danced back and forth, to and fro, bobbing and weaving between buildings and down alleyways, firing their weapons the entire time. The air between them alive with red hot spikes of death and streaking fireballs.

This dance seemed to go on forever, both Atlas' dodging and evading. For every magazine Spencer would pour into his target he would take a few salvos of rockets. Both were damaged but Spencer knew he couldn't take another salvo. "Alert: Damage Core is available. Warning: We have sustained critical damage. I suggest a tactical withdrawal." Jeeves spoke again. Spencer cursed to himself as his display flickered and stuttered with video corruption before popping back on, the viewscreen filled with static. Spencer's Titan was extremely damaged, but so was his enemy's. Spencer dropped his magazine as he activated his damage core, grabbing a fresh drum of now pre-superheated, induction hardened rounds. These bullets usually wrecked any weapon they were fired from but they packed a bigger punch, something Spencer needed to win this battle.

Spencer reacted quickly as the rocket incoming alarm blared through his cockpit, activating his Vortex Shield, catching three clusters of rockets before firing them back at their owner, unleashing his own torrent of shoulder mounted missiles. The rockets and missiles streaked to their intended target the majority of the explosives impacting the Militia Titan. Spencer then squeezed his trigger, firing all forty of his superheated rounds, quickly streaking to his intended target.

Spencer laughed maniacally as he watched the hostile Atlas contort and twist under the hail of bullets, causing the enemy Titan to burst into flames. However as Spencer dropped the empty magazine he was struck by a parting shot of rockets right before the pilot ejected from his doomed Titan. "Warning: Critical System Failure. Reactor overload imminent." Spencer screamed out in anger, smashing his fists into his controls before calming himself down. His Titan's Operating System warning him to eject. Spencer sighed, before punching in the hatch release key and yanking on the ejection control lever. A sense of vertigo, followed by a rapid ascension into the air as he cleared his now self-destructing Titan's blast radius overwhelmed Spencer's senses before he came to a dull thud of a landing. As the corporal reached for his back to unclasp his firearm he was met with a figure rushing towards him, covering ground at an astonishing rate. The figure slammed into Spencer knee first, snapping the corporal's head back.

Spencer was knocked onto his back from the force of the blow, and soon pinned by a heavy weight. Spencer looked up to the rather bulky pilot pinning him to the ground, his open faced armor allowing Spencer to gaze upon his sneering face. "Well now…" the man chuckled, "You had some tricks up your sleeve, boy. Got some potential in you. Well, _had_ some potential." The man said as he reached to his thigh, removing his sidearm, a B3 Wingman revolver, from it's holster. "Told you I would kill you." The man grinned sinisterly, placing the barrel of the large weapon in Spencer's face.

Spencer gulped as he slowly saw the hammer of the weapon draw back, the man seeming to enjoy every second of this moment . The cylinder of the weapon rotating just fractions of an inch to line up the next bullet in the chamber. Spencer shut his eyes waiting for the inevitable. An eternity seemed to pass as his breath hitched in his throat. He trembled, but out of anger or fear he was uncertain. Spencer flinched when he heard gunshots, but he wasn't dead yet. He opened his eyes to see Gomez firing his C.A.R. submachine gun, bullets whizzed past and around Spencer in short, controlled bursts. Gomez clearly trying to kill or at least wound the man currently holding a gun to Spencer's head.

The Militia pilot, now with a much more valid, and rapidly approaching threat, raised his weapon to Gomez. Spencer let out the breath he didn't know he was holding before beginning to react. The man fired off a single shot hitting Gomez, causing him to yelp out in pain, twisting from the impact of the round before crumpling to the ground in a groaning heap. Spencer, seeing his teammate wounded before him went into overdrive, his mind racing as he yanked the knife he held securely to his leg and plunged it into the man's side, before yanking it up and across the man's abdomen before it became caught upon bone and hard armor. The man screamed in excruciating agony as Spencer twisted the knife and yanked it out, bringing blood and ribbons of entrails with it. Spencer began to rise, putting his strength into moving the bigger man. However to Spencer's surprise the man narrowed his eyes, fighting the urge to cough up blood as he leveled the B3 and squeezed off a round into Spencer's stomach. Spencer gasped as the force of the round knocked him back.

The man growled in a mixture of pain and hate before speaking again. "That... was a nice little... stunt you pulled there." The man groaned out between gasps and grunts of pain. "I'm gonna... leave you like this…. let you bleed out…" The man spoke small coughs of blood interrupting his speech. "Eye for an eye, right." Spencer could only groan in response. He looked past the man who was rapidly fading in and out of focus and to the sky. He watched on as several Crow dropships zipped overhead followed by several IMC Phantoms, shortly followed by a radio transmission.

"All pilots, all pilots. This is Saber Actual, good work out there today. We have managed to pull vital intelligence on this Militia Raiding operation. All units are now being tasked with stopping the Militia from successfully withdrawing their forces. Saber Actual, out."

"All fire teams, all fire teams. This is Guardian Actual you are to sweep and clear your sectors, make sure there are no Militia stragglers left behind. Guardian Actual, out."

Spencer looked up as the man struggled to get to his feet, he most likely received orders the opposite of the corporal's, telling the man to reach extraction. Spencer struggled to reach for his sidearm but found he lacked the strength to do so at the moment. He watched as a Crow landed on a nearby rooftop a block or two away, several Militia Pilots racing to get aboard the dropship. He heard a jump kit engaging and a thud followed by a pair of green uniformed legs running past him, stopping to help up the pilot he had injured.

"Ah christ, Vic, you okay?" A female voice called out, laced with concern. "Youre losing a lot of blood. We gotta get you out of here, come on." Spencer recognized the voice as the one they called "Bishop".

"Nah, little... bastard got me." The man, Vic, responded, pointing towards Spencer who lay half curled in a ball, hands furiously clutched to his stomach. Spencer recoiled slightly as Bishop drew out her sidearm, a Hammond P2011, pointing it at Spencer. Much to the corporal's surprise and relief however, Vic placed his hand on the weapon, angling the barrel down to the floor. "No, he deserves this… Payback for what he did to me." Vic wheezed, he was getting worse.

Bishop turned to look at Vic, and while her face wasn't visible Spencer knew a look of confusion must be upon her features. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders before holstering her handgun, and using both her arms to support Vic's weight. She flagged down another passing Pilot, motioning to have them help her get her squadmate to the awaiting Crow. Spencer on the other hand tried to lay as still as possible, aside from trying to play dead, the less energy he wasted on movement the more time he had to wait for a friendly fire team to get him some medical attention, at least he hoped he would get medical attention. He knew death could happen at any time, he never thought he would be waiting for it to come though. Spencer watched on as the three Militia pilots made their way down the street and around the corner. He watched for a few more moments, minutes perhaps, until eventually the Crow dropship dusted off and rocketed into the distance.

Spencer blinked his eyes and gulped hard, he looked to his abdomen, then to the slowly ever growing pool of blood he was lying in. He spared a look over to Gomez, who was struggling to stand up, blood had pooled up under his armor, soaking the upper left corner of his uniform. He made his way over to Spencer, crouching down and slowly rolling him onto his back, much to Spencer's strained protests. For the longest time Gomez didn't speak, he simply propped Spencer up with his right arm, sitting the wounded man up, as he tore off a sleeve of his uniform. Gomez poured some of his canteen water onto the makeshift rag, soaking it with cool liquid before wrapping it around Spencer's midriff, the item quickly becoming soaked in blood. Gomez then pulled an emergency Quick Administer Morphine Injector and gently pricked Spencer in the leg. Spencer's eyes began to flutter as the morphine kicked in, giving Spencer a drowsy dose of sedatives, to which Gomez lightly shook the man, the pain jolting Spencer to full alertness. It was then when Gomez spoke, strained, worried and tired. "Come on, get up." He tugged on Spencer's arm, who eventually stood up with a little bit of trouble.

Together the pair hobbled down the street, Spencer lost count of the blocks, he instead focused on Gomez's words, telling him to stay awake, that they were almost home, or of the stories of their childhood, to some of which Spencer chuckled. Eventually they came upon a few squads of Grunts and several BRD-01 Spectre Drones, several of which offered much appreciated medical aid. The pair soon found themselves in a makeshift combat hospital, a small motel with several rooms dedicated to medical care or robotic repairs for damaged Spectre units. Spencer soon found himself laying on a portable table, stripped from the waist up, with several gloved hands poking and prodding into him.

"Good news corporal, bullet didn't go through, so the damage isn't as bad as it could be. It also did not hit your spine, so consider yourself lucky." A combat medic said to the man from behind a bright light and a masked face. "Bad news is, you have lost a lot of blood and some of your organs are going to have to be cloned or donated. We can patch you up, give you some blood and stop the bleeding. But you are going to need proper treatment, this field medic stuff isn't going to cut it." The man said, before getting a two bags of blood labeled "A Pos" and attaching one to an IV which was then fed into Spencer's arm. They injected Spencer with more morphine before getting started on making sense of his shredded internal organs.

Before being placed within a drug induced sleep Spencer thought to himself. '_Heh, at least I am alive. That Vic asshole 's probably dead right now… serves him right…'_

Spencer was not aware of the Goblin dropship that arrived in the parking lot of the motel, or being loaded onto said dropship with Gomez and several other wounded soldiers, or the warp to space. He wasn't aware of the docking and unloading or that he had been issued a room within the medical bay of the IMS Eden. When he finally came to, he had several tubes in his arm as well as a machine with several cables hooked to his abdomen. Spencer groaned at the sight and attempted in vain to sit up, his strength still gone. He looked around the room to see a window to look out of, they were in orbit over Adaena, an IMC controlled planet. Several other ships listed by on some lazy trajectory Spencer didn't care to analyze. He heard a knock on the door before it opened shortly afterwards.

He smiled faintly as his squadmates walked into his room, they were somber, but happy that Spencer was awake. They were dressed in their formal uniforms, some of them brandishing, new medals. Gomez was there, his tan skin standing in contrast to the light grey clothing, or the bright medals and ribbons on his chest. He held a small black box in his hands, it bore the IMC logo etched into the surfaces of the small container. A tall, bulkier man with a fading buzzcut, Rick, as he preferred to be called, spoke first. "Damn man they aren't turning you into a robot are they?" He spoke his friendly, energetic voice betraying his intimidating figure.

Spencer's smile widened only slightly, followed by a light chuckle. His squad leader, an older man, with salt and pepper slicked back hair spoke, "Damn, corporal, they really did a number on you. Or maybe you need to improve on your skills?" He mused playfully. "...Or….Maybe you got what you deserve, eh? You can be a little hard headed when it comes to orders." The man joked, scratching the buzzed sides of his head, before running his hand through the hair atop his head.

"I don't know, Sergeant, I think I deserve a promotion." Spencer joked coarsely. He then looked again to his pitiful state, his mood deadening. "...H-Hey… any news when I'm getting out of here?" Spencer almost whispered, he had heard of the stories of Pilots being bedridden for the rest of their lives from combat related wounds. The others picked up on his changed mood, the smiles, laughter and jokes petering out.

Gomez was the first to speak, "Two weeks." He said shortly, almost awkwardly "You'll be out in two weeks." He said a small smile on his face in a reassuring fashion. Gomez also offered the small black box to Spencer, stepping up to the side of his bed. Spencer glanced to the box, then to Gomez before returning to the box. Taking the box almost reluctantly he pried the small offering open. Inside, placed upon supple light grey velvet were two medals and a combat ribbon. Spencer recognized the medals instantly. A purple heart medal, one given to soldiers wounded or killed in combat. The other was a white star, the IMC's take on an ancient medal one of the old governments of Earth used to give out. It was usually awarded for bravery, or acts of valor in combat. Spencer smiled, but he didn't feel like he deserved the star, all he did was run away most of the time, not something too brave. But Spencer wasn't going to complain, "A medal awarded, is a medal earned." His drill instructor used to bark that into his ears when he had asked the importance of military medals. He knew not to question medals and ribbons shortly after his little, "lecture".

Closing the box gingerly, Spencer nodded in acceptance, he didn't really approve of the situation but things could definitely be worse. "How long have I been out?" He asked again, _'Must have been a few days at least, maybe two or three weeks. I mean Gomez is patched up… wearing his dress uniform.' _Spencer thought, before his Sergeant answered his query.

"A whole seven hours!" He wailed in mock sorrow, a smile plastered upon his face. "We were worried you had gone and kicked the bucket!" He joked, laughing at Spencer's flustered then confused reaction.

"Yeah, come on man, with your luck? Its as if Lady Luck owes you money or something." Another man chuckled, everyone called him "Crates" due to his habit of sleeping on the cargo crates during the hours they were supposed to spend checking their Titans and gear. "I doubt you would of died even if you tried." He grunted with a slight sneer.

Spencer frowned and was about to speak out when the Sergeant beat him to it, "Hey, Spencer, how did you end up like this anyways? Gotta be a hell of a story." The man grinned sitting down in one of the few chairs in the room, effectively changing the subject to which Spencer reluctantly agreed to. Much to the Sergeant's relief, he didn't like it when his squad argued.

Spencer paused for a moment, thinking back and began to speak when a voice blared through the intercom. "Attention all medical personnel, visiting hours are over, please escort out all non essential personnel." Spencer sighed then frowned as a woman dressed in modest all white medical fatigues stepped into the room and directed the men out. After they left she shut the shutters of the window. This cut out all the light coming into the room, causing the room's artificial lights to automatically kick on.

"Anything I can get for you, sir?" She asked, her voice soft and gentle, she looked to the various machines and tubes inserted into the man, making notes on their readouts before actually looking at Spencer.

"I'm a little famished…" Spencer suggested before she nodded and left the room. He watched as she left before turning to the window, then, remembering it was closed, turned his attention to something else.

Spencer waited for the food to arrive, watching news reports on the recent battle before switching the channel to a local planetary cartoon network, something to lighten the mood. As the food arrived he had sat through two episodes of some boy and his robot dog. He turned away from the show, sparing one last glance before wolfing down the food. Combat tends to drain a person, so does getting shot, the food was welcome.

While it wasn't particularly good—food from the Medical Wing usually wasn't—it was fulfilling though, something Spencer appreciated. Spencer ate, scarfing down mouthfuls of some warm mush of an unknown origin with a complimentary side of greens and meat. Moments after his meal he quickly nodded off, the lights dimming and the video feed cutting out as they sensed his loss of consciousness. As he drifted off, he was grateful he was still alive, but he wasn't looking forward to the physical therapy he was most likely going to have to take, or missing out and then having to make up for all the training he was going to be absent from. His thoughts were troubled to say the least, but his sleep was undisturbed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'll try not to use too many of these. First of all I would like to thank everyone who has took the time to read this story, it means a lot and helps keep me going. Secondly I would like to encourage you to review or comment as I would like to hear any feedback you guys and gals might have. And thirdly I would like to apologize for the tardiness of this update, college finals are going on right now and I don't have much time to sit down and write. Anyways, Enjoy!**

October 8, 07:23 Hours

Three weeks had passed since found himself in a hospital bed. As promised, he was released for good health a week ago. Then, almost moments after his release he was put through vigorous training courses, as well as another reflex test. He pulled some middle of the field scores, enough to place him back into active duty as a Titan pilot, something Spencer was proud of. During his stay in the medical ward, things had almost petered out on Adaena, there were minor Militia skirmishes here or there. Several Titans would clash and casualties would be few on both sides. In fact, Militia activity—or at least as he had been told from down the grapevine—had almost died out, the people they're facing now must have been stragglers, left behind by the Militia. Spencer grinned, glad that he wasn't in that situation.

A muffled knock on the door was the only warning Spencer received as it was pushed open. A young man who couldn't be older than seventeen dressed in a dulled orange jacket stood in the doorway, electronic ledger in hand. "Sorry to interrupt, sir. Your uh… your Titan is ready for inspection." The young man stuttered before briskly walking out of sight. A confused expression formed upon Spencer's features as he thought to himself. _MY Titan? Since when were we given personal Titans? Are we being deployed?_ These were the foremost thoughts that rushed through his head as he rose from his quarters, leaving the room and walking at a brisk pace towards the nearest and subsequently largest hangar aboard the IMS Eden. As he exited the corridor he almost bumped into his squad leader, Sergeant Howard Wardd.

"Just the man I wanted to see!" Sgt. Wardd grinned, turning to regard the corporal.

"Really?" Spencer asked, confused as he was, with this only furthering his state of confusion.

"No... I really wanted to see the man who's deploying us. I want to clock him across the face." Wardd grumbled his face a sulking scowl.

"What's going on, sir?" Spencer said, almost forgetting to address the man with seniority. He was never big on being considered a superior, it helped improve squad dynamics, but being in public as they were, Spencer did not want to risk it.

"Were being deployed, a platoon of grunts we sent to respond to a distress signal from a small city has stopped checking in. Command wants us to investigate. They're giving us some modified Titans to get the job done." Sergeant Wardd sighed.

"Get what job done? Thought we were investigating." Spencer commented, lapsing into causality.

"Watch how you address me… corporal." Wardd warned, glancing to Spencer then a nearby crewman brandishing a Military Police insignia and armband.

Spencer got the message, muttering an apology in response.

"I thought so too, but apparently its big enough to elect Titans to get the job done." Wardd continued, "Higher ups think it might be Militia." He finished looking to Spencer who nodded in reluctant agreement. "Anyways, get down there, get your gear situated. We deploy at 08:30" Wardd finished jerking his thumb behind him, towards the hangar floor, where dozens of Titans were being prepped for combat. Sergeant Wardd watched as Spencer snapped to attention, offering a short salute before walking off to the right,down a flight of stairs and into the hangar proper.

Bay 04, it was converted from aircraft storage and maintenance to Titan construction and upkeep, as well as deployment when the situation called for it. Spencer had spent a lot of time here, almost more than he spent within his quarters. He spotted several of the hulking machines lined up in rows, various cables and wires hanging from them. While a few of the machines were within various states of construction, his target was near the middle of the massive, cavernous space. Spencer made his way through the labyrinthine space, walking between massive parts belonging to Titans and several rows of large power-tools and various crates and boxes. After a few minutes of maneuvering and tight squeezes he had reached his destination, marked by a scuffed and faded blue line painted into the floor. He paused at the line as a small flatbed cart pulled several racks of deactivated Spectres, most likely headed off to some place within the bay to be retrofitted.

After a quick glance to make sure his path was clear, he crossed the threshold into the "Final Check and Deployment" area of the bay, often called the "FCD" or "The Pit" depending on who you ask within the crew. Countless Titans, Spectres, weapons and equipment were stored in this area. This was where Titans with weapons loaded, and systems tuned are lined in rows and columns according to the pilot squad rosters. Spencer walked down several columns before reaching the one belonging to his squad, A chipped "OMEGA" painted on top of the heavy duty metal flooring.

Before the corporal were several Stryder class Titans, all outfitted with thick, middle gray armor plates. He walked up to a space marked "O5-1", his space, where he spotted a pair of mechanics and an engineer. The trio looked busy as they worked and clambered over and throughout the colossal robot. Spencer stepped into the squared off space, making it a few feet into the worn yellow box before clearing his throat, making his presence known. This caused one of the Mechanics, to turn and regard the pilot. He stood next to a heavy looking box connected by several wires and a single heavy duty cable as thick as the man's arm, all of which fed into the center of the Stryder. He grunted in approval before going back to work for a few moments before returning his attention to the corporal.

"What can I do for you?" The mechanic rumbled, wiping his hands on his pants before using a dirtied rag to clean his forearms.

"Corporal Spencer, Omega 5-1." Spencer introduced himself shaking the man's hand. "Is this my Titan?" He asked looking up to the half constructed Stryder.

"That it is...That it is…" The man nodded rocking back in forth in place a bit before looking at the robot as well, smiling at his handiwork. "Anyways, before you ask me. This thing here," The man grunted, jerking his thumb towards the Stryder, "is your standard Stryder. We've refitted it with extra armor, so it isn't going to be as nimble. However, you should be able to take more of a beating." The man said to which Spencer grunted in approval, he was never a fan of the Stryder, it was too fragile he would appreciate the extra armor. "Next," The man said walking up a short flight of stairs to a catwalk that formed a U shape around the rear of the Stryder before stopping at the currently dismantled back. "We were told to replace some of the internal systems and sensors. They're being replaced with a modified IFF system and a few networking tools." The man said turning to regard Spencer's reaction, to which none was really given. The man shrugged in his own response before finishing his briefing "And last but not least, we've removed the shoulder mounted ordinance and rewired your dash core, you won't be able to dash around as much or get that extra firepower, but you have some cool new toys. Some advanced optics systems, those are shoulder mounted. And your dash core will now give your equipment better functionality. The energy from the core will now be distributed to your equipment." The man finishes with a huff before turning to the engineer jabbing a flurry of commands into a small tablet hooked into the Stryder somewhere. "Engineer says it should boost their effectiveness in field."

"Thanks…" Spencer trailed off, trying to get a grasp on understanding all the changes to the Stryder. "Uh… any reason for the changes? I mean… did they tell you why?" Spencer asked folding his arms across his chest.

"Nope. Not at all. But it's not like I care, I'm just a mechanic, I do what I'm told and get paid." The man responded plainly.

Spencer nodded in acceptance, before moving away from the area. "Know when this will be done?" He said as he made his way over to the armory on the other side of this area.

"Give us about five minutes, give or take a few. We just have to do some final checks and put this baby back together." The man grinned, his whitened teeth standing in stark contrast to his oil covered face.

"Alright, I'll be back then." Spencer said rhetorically, to which he mentally berated himself. _'Of course I'll be back, were about to deploy, duh.'_

The man said nothing as he nodded then disappeared back into his work, resuming his final touches to the Stryder.

Spencer walked away towards the armory, reaching the threshold of the small portable building within the middle of the FCD. He showed his military I.D. card, a small white slab with a glass trim, his face and the IMC insignia burned into the card. The Military Police officers at the door paused as they check his card against the database before allowing him to enter. Spencer nodded as he stepped inside the room.

Inside, the walls were lined with every weapon they IMC produced, purchased or reverse engineered. Countless rifles, sidearms, explosive devices, armor and equipment were stored in this area. Spencer walked over to a cage locker, disengaging the electronic lock that gave way with a small high toned beep. As he pulled back the door and reached for the weapon inside—an R-101C, his weapon of choice—he was stopped by his squad leader. Confused, Spencer glanced to the man who gave a curt shake of his head, to which Spencer hung his head low and made a mock pouting face before complying and returning the weapon to the locker. After the locker was closed and locked Sgt. Wardd directed Spencer over to an area where the rest of his squad mates as well as four other individuals were stationed around a large table.

"Our loadouts have been picked for us, find your gear and kit up." Wardd said as he reached his spot on the table grabbing various items and securing them. The corporal did as he was told, finding his place at the table and proceeding to kit up. Upon the table were multiple G2A4 rifles, an older weapon, but deadly none the less. They were pre-customized, featuring a Holosight on top of the uppermost attachment rail, with a suppressor screwed unto the end of the barrel of the gun. It also featured a modified trigger, allowing the operator to fire the weapon as fast as they could pull it. Several magazines for the weapon were stacked in neat, orderly little towers. Spencer then looked to his combat harness and battle fatigues, both were a dark grey almost black shade of the normally middle tone color used in normal engagements.

Spencer quickly threw on the jacket before shimmying into the pants and slipping on his boots. As Spencer pulled on his vest and harness on he also used his free hand to clear the hood from inside of his armor. Knee pads were then secured into place along with his jumpkit. He secured his knife, grenades and ammo before moving to his helmet. The faceplate, lined with two bigger lenses on each side of the helmet with a smaller central lense, looking reminiscent of a five eyed spider. Spencer then noticed that the lenses that normally glow a light blue were painted over with dark see-through paint, effectively muting out the glow. Spencer tugged on and adjusted his gear, making sure it was comfortable and everything was stored and secured before slinging his rifle across his back. Spencer then looked to his squad who had also finished gearing up.

One of the men, a man who bore the double silver bars of a captain spoke up. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen today you," The man boomed, pointing to Omega squad at large. "along with Banshee," The captain pointed to the two other pilots standing at the table, "are going to run a little intel operation. Militia activity has been reported within the area around Storett. And for those of you who don't know, that's something inexcusable. We just received word that we lost the Spectre production facilities at Hammond Robotics out in the frontier. We cannot afford to lose the facility at Storett." The man spoke with calm anger making a few gestures, activating a holographic display that was projected from the table. "The area's reported are some towns and cities around that area. We sent two platoons of grunts, both have stopped responding. The air support and reconnaissance we have sent have also failed to respond…" The man spoke, his voice getting grim as the holographic map zoomed to a small town, furthest away from Storett, a little town called Caianna. "So now we're sending you." He sighed before continuing. "Omega, your job is to find out what happened to our men, you are to keep engagement to a complete minimum. We aren't going to send much support if you get in some deep water, so tread lightly. Banshee's job is to make sure that the Militia hasn't pushed past Caianna and into the other cities. If possible you are to gauge the strength of the Militia forces. They've been cut off from their main forces on the Frontier, but if the Militia decide to come and pay us a visit, and I feel like they will, we can't already be in a fight with the Militia forces here." He spoke, tone only slightly calmer than moments before however much more serious. He zoomed the display back out, to the area around Caianna. He tapped an area on the display, a orange dot marking where his finger made contact. "Omega, this is your drop point, about 25 clicks from Caianna. You're going to have to walk the rest of the way in your Titans. You should reach the area by nightfall, that's when your mission begins." The captain looked to Sgt. Wardd earning a nod from him. He then turned to the two other pilots, "Banshee, you're being dropped… here." He gestured again, a marker being placed at Storett. "You're to sweep and clear every block until you reach your rendezvous point with Omega at Caianna. Understood?" He asked earning a grunt of approval and a salute from Banshee. "Alright, you deploy in two minutes. Omega, get to your Titans, Banshee kit up and head to the Goblin waiting for you. I'll finish briefing once you're all on the ground." The captain finished, folding his arms behind his back.

The pilots in the room snapped to attention, giving crisp salutes bellowing "Sir, yes, sir!" Then the room was empty as the men filed out in silence, shuffling of equipment and the dull thuds and clicks of boots on metal the only sound as they made their way to their destinations.

Spencer followed behind Crates who was following Wardd as they made their way to the Titans awaiting them. Spencer followed until he reached his Titan, all pieced together and waiting for him. The small optical sensor on the hull rotating as it tracked his movement, something Spencer still found creepy. He started a light jog and a small hop towards the Stryder as the Auto-Titan OS kicked on, predicting his movement before catching him and lifting Spencer into the cockpit. As Spencer settled into the Stryder he relaxed into the unexpectedly comfortable seat. "Welcome back sir, I've kept the seat warm for you." The titan's OS, Jeeves chirped as Spencer booted up the main systems. He punched in the command to transfer to manual control as he turned his Pilot key in its ignition before removing it. "Switching to manual mode. Transferring control to pilot." Jeeves quipped as Spencer finished setup.

He heard and felt the muffled thuds of five other Titans beginning their short trek to the pair of Goblin dropships waiting in the red deployment zone. Spencer followed in short order, keeping pace with the machine in front of him. The ships looked weird however, their cargo compartments were expanded, lengthened, almost bulbous looking. The interiors of the cargo area were stripped down to bare minimum allowing space for the Titans to walk onto the ship and not much else.

"Gomez, Spencer, Turner, you three are in Valkyrie 2-7." Sergeant Wardd ordered placing an objective marker on the furthest Goblin, a picture of a curvaceous, rather scantily clad norse themed winged woman brandishing a sword was painted onto the side of the aircraft. "Crates, Fannuchi, and I are taking Valkyrie 1-7."

Spencer placed his Titan into auto mode, allowing it to board the ship by itself. He watched as the control yokes were ripped from his hands as the machine went to work. A flurry of quick movements and minute twitches and the Titan was soon facing away from the rear entrance of the dropship and walking backwards into place. Spencer shut his Stryder's main functions off. Running the Titan on minimal power and systems. "Jeeves, some music if you will?" Spencer asked to the empty air. Music slowly faded in to his response. Jeeves no longer responding verbally due to his reduced systems. Spencer recognized the radio station as one of the few the IMC sponsored and played for their personnel who were on duty. After some witty propaganda and light hearted jokes a song Spencer recognized began to play, to which the man hummed along lightly.

Spencer had listened to two songs before he heard the clicks then high-pitch whine, followed by the bassy rumble of the Goblin's engines firing up. While this variation of the Goblin lacked viewports he did hear the Crew Foreman warning personnel that the bay doors were opening. Spencer looked to his display. "Wednesday, 08:30:15" Spencer let out a long sigh. He felt a pop followed by the static overwash as they went through the energy field holding the atmosphere into the ship. And while he couldn't see it, Spencer knew they were floating through the inky black void of space, racing towards Adaena and subsequently, Caianna.

He felt the rumble and shaking before the pilot came on over the speakers. "We are now entering the atmosphere of Adaena, things are going to be a little bumpy for awhile. Standby." The corporal sat within his Titan, mostly shielded from the jolts and jumps as the ship bounced back and forth. While the descent was as smooth as possible, it was far from graceful. The larger proportions played hell with the aerodynamics of the vessel as it forced its way through the thick barrier of the planet's upper stratosphere. Moments later the shaking died out and the ship became level and quiet, the thrum of the engines the only sound within the vehicle.

"Alright. Command wants us to take the scenic route, draw less attention that way. We will be approaching from south by south-east. Once we get to low enough altitude we will drop you from the bay doors. We won't be stopping so be ready when the time comes. We should be near Caianna within the hour." The smooth, bassy voice that all airmen seemed to have instructed over the radio.

"Omega, check your equipment one last time, I don't want any mistakes or failures on this mission. Once things are in order find something to do for an hour, just be ready when we drop." Sergeant Wardd barked shortly afterwards.

Spencer heard a symphony of double clicks in his headset, to which he contributed. It was the signal for "message received". It was useful for communicating when talking wasn't possible or impractical. He quickly checked and rechecked his gear. Satisfied that everything was where it should be and in presumably working order, corporal Spencer drifted off to sleep. "Jeeves, play an alarm when we get to the drop area." He murmured out to which two high toned chirps replied.

Soon enough, Spencer was woken up by an alarm playing through his Titan. Jolting awake Spencer looked through the various displays to see a timer counting into the negatives. He tapped a button on his command console and the numbers disappeared. Spencer then regarded his surroundings, the whine and roar of the engines much, much louder. The sound of rushing air was also present, almost drowning out the engines, the sounds seeming to have a battle with each other with neither coming out on top. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice over his headset, the only comprehensible noise at the moment. "Alright boys, we are approaching your destination. We are at five-hundred feet and cruising at a speed of three-hundred miles per hour. Your Titans will survive the fall just fine, going to be one hell of a shock though, best prepare yourself… Opening bay doors now." Spencer watched as light poured in from the opening floor, quickly invading the space of the ship. Below, the ground rushed past in blurs of greens, browns, blues and blacks as the doors opened wider and wider and soon Omega squad was falling.

You couldn't necessarily call it a freefall. Titans couldn't do that. They lacked the grace to do so. It was more like a giant metal rock crashing into the ground and only surviving the impact because the Titan tended to be stronger than the object it landed on. Within moments of dropping Spencer went from feeling the terrifying sensation of his organs being pushed upwards to his chest cavity to the bone jarring impact of metal on ground. A short, pain induced groan and a few flips of switches and button presses and Spencer was back in order, combat ready. "Main systems online. It's nice to see you again, sir." Jeeves said as he booted back up. "All systems online and operational. Alert: Friendly Titans have deployed to your area." Spencer deadpanned at the personality switch. While Jeeves was just a Titan-based AI he wasn't necessarily simple, he simply put his job first, which often got in the way of him truly being pleasant to be around. But he was efficient, something most Pilots could appreciate.

"Alright, Squad form up on my location, We're going to take a nice little stroll to our objective." Wardd crackled over the radio.

Spencer checked his map being displayed on the viewports of his Titan. Several blue dots appeared with a green dot and a yellow dot near the groups. The yellow dot represented Spencer and had a little triangle to indicate his direction relative to the objects being displayed. Spencer checked the location of the green dot before correcting his Titan's direction and heading to his commanding officer. As his Titan left the miniature crater it had created and began wading through hills covered in grass that would of been chest height to a person and stomping through calm, shallow streams he received yet another message on his radio.

"Omega this is Captain North, remember your objective. You are only here to scout the area, assess the damage if you will. Carrying on... Banshee has arrived at their destination and they are beginning their sweep." Captain North spoke, Cpl. Spencer recognized the voice of the man in the armory. "I'm going to give you a run-down of your equipment, it's a little different from your average setup, and I want you to be aware of the changes." He continued, "Your Stryders are a bit heavier, think of them as a mix between an Atlas and the standard Stryder. The armor we have fitted on the frame serves two functions, added survivability and a stealth capability. The paint will reflect radar waves making you harder to detect in case they do have some kind of equipment out there. Next up is your shoulder-mounted surveillance systems. The setup is powerful, you can see through walls, probably even into the sewers. That should allow you to see if anybody is hiding out in a building without having to check it out yourself. Lastly is your modified IFF system. We scavenged it off of some downed Militia Spectres, so you should be able to detect both friendly and hostile forces if any are present." The Captain droned on, his voice only mildly interested in the words he was saying. "Above all else, you are to stay safe and complete your mission. Understood?" The man suddenly was very serious.

Captain North received a series of "Yes sir" and slight variations of the phrase. All the Captain said in response was a casual, "Good, have fun out there." Before winking off of the communication network.

"Now that that's squared away we can get down to business. We need to move to Caianna, can't take the main roads. We cut through the hills, through the regional park and down the river. We cross roads as little as possible, try to stay out of sight." The Sergeant added, he too receiving a series of acknowledgements.

The trek was slow, Spencer kept pace at the middle of the pack. The wildlife seemed to be non-existent, scared off by the large machines parading through their habitats. However the Pilots took no notice of the occurrence—or lack thereof—as they were too busy making sure they were not going to collide with the Titans around them. They cut over several hills, through a multitude of valleys and plateaus and through the regional forest. Some of the larger, more stalwart creatures standing their ground to the last moment, before skittering off deep into the trees as the Titans weaved their way in between them. It had been hours since they had started their voyage. Hours of long periods of silence, the occasional remark or joke starting a conversation that quickly died out. Soon enough they reached the river, which prompted Wardd to issue an order.

"Alright, stop here. We take a ten minute break, then we get back in the saddle." Wardd said as he exited his Stryder, hoping down to the grassy bank. His subordinates soon followed suit, stretching and making noises of appreciation. Spencer did the same, hopping down and walking to the edge of the river. Watching the fish swim in the lazy current as water gently bubbled over the rocks that occasionally jutted up from the riverbed. He sighed deeply at the sight, it reminded him of when he was younger causing a faint smile to play across his features. He then chuckled, the river was calm, carefree, it cared not for the problems of man. Spencer however, he was caught up in the troubles of others, he had to adapt, he could not be calm or carefree. But he enjoyed his time, tried to make the most of it. Sometimes it was nice to stop and smell the roses, it made him appreciate his little world a bit more. He briefly turned his gaze to the sky. The sun was at its peak, burning brightly and casting crisp dark shadows unto the land. Spencer checked his watch—14:23—before returning to gaze upon the river once more.

He continued to stare on until a hand firmly found itself on his shoulder. "Hey, come on man, time's up. We gotta go." A man much taller than Spencer said, standing almost half a foot over the man.

"...Y-yeah. Sorry. I got it." Spencer sputtered, cringing from the contact as he was startled out of his trance like state. He shuffled over to his Stryder which tracked him with its standard onboard camera as well as its new shoulder mounted optics. Spencer shuddered as he climbed back inside his Titan, he still found it offputting and the added camera's were not helping. "Transferring Control to Pilot." Jeeves was prompt, as per usual.

They continued up the river, traveling slowly towards Caianna. Eventually they crossed the river, it was at this point much deeper and much wider, the pace of the Stryders slowing considerably in the denser, rapidly moving environment. As they crossed the river the occasional vehicle could be heard passing by. The tops of cargo trucks zooming past off to their distant destinations. Spencer placed himself aside his squad leader's Titan before hearing his voice pop into his ear.

"Fannuchi, Turner, up the the bank, cross the freeway. But try to be quick about it, try to not be seen." Wardd started and finished with a sigh, his tone lapsing into a subtle complaint.

Turner— Omega 6-1— scoffed, "Me? Slow? Please, Sergeant, when have _I_ been slow?" He joked, taking a heavy tone of mock sarcasm.

"Why, all the time. Sometimes I forget you're even on the squad." Wardd jested in return. "Now, get to it." He ordered, relapsing back into his normal tone of voice. The Titans clambered up the bank, their pace slowed from the steep incline. As soon as they reached the top they fired up their dash thrusters, flying across the freeway. "Gomez, with me. Let's go." Wardd ordered, already climbing up the slope. A few moments later and they were also across the stretch of asphalt. That left Crates and Spencer last, to which Crates dashed up the bank, firing his thrusters twice more to get across the length of road. Spencer grumbled as he was left behind, glancing to the terrain tore up from Crates' little stunt. Eventually Spencer reached the top of the slope, making it across the road without a problem. If possible Spencer would be glaring daggers at Crates, but he resigned himself to a deep sigh, slouching further into the rigid seat of his Stryder before rejoining the group.

"Crates… What was with that stunt?" Wardd asked in a casual fashion, malicious intent subtly laced into his words.

"What? You wanted us to get across quickly right? So thats what I did!" Crates retorted defensively.

"You weren't supposed to leave your squad mate behind. We were going as groups of two and you knew that." Wardd indifferently responded, continuing to pilot his Titan through the archaic scenic route mapped out by IMC command..

"You didn't order us to go as a group so I figured we were on our own." Crates played the technicality card, stomping his Titan a few meters behind Wardd's own Titan. Spencer stayed silent, he knew when to stay out of an impending shit storm. "Besides, what's the big deal? Not like he died. Spencer is a big boy, he can handle himself."

Wardd stopped, the rest of the squad taking a few steps or grinding to a halt themselves. "The '_big deal_' is that we are running a stealth operation. Pulling shit like that comprises the isn't our standard op. We do not have the luxury of reinforcements. Things get out of hand. and we're on our own. I don't need things to go to shit because you decide to screw around with your squad mates like you always do. We either work together or I put an end to your shenanigans right here and now. Choice is yours… _private_." Wardd growled, turning his Stryder to face down Crates', 40mm Cannon aimed dead center on the cockpit.

There was a long pause followed by an angry, "Sorry." As Crates forcefully swallowed his pride and bit his tounge.

"Don't let it happen again." Wardd finished, turning his Titan back in the direction he was previously facing. "Alright boys, carry on." Wardd instructed, his voice back to it's usual tone, however strained.

They continued on in awkward, dead silence. They forged on like this for hours, the sun beginning to set in the far distance, barely peaking over the pale mountains in the distance. Fannuchi who had taken point a couple of hours ago finally broke the silence. "Sarge, smoke in the distance." This caused the collective group of pilots to slow pace, turning north to the direction of Caianna. A thick plume of billowy black smoke wafted up into the sky, like a giant marker that could be seen miles away. "Might be Militia activity. Or it could be from any factories out there."

"Only factories that make smoke like that are auto factories or a Titan production plant. Cainna got any auto factories?" Turner pitched in.

"It does, but we can't be sure. Gotta trust intel, right?" Gomez responded, his interest peaked, now that they were approaching their objective.

"Since when has IMC intel been completely reliable though?" Crates finally spoke after his long absence of speech.

"Doesn't matter. Get ready everyone, we move on Caianna at nightfall." Wardd grumbled. He got like that when things weren't right. His usually casual tone always lapsed over to his more serious self when he sensed a threat present. And with his change in mood and tone, the rest of his squad had adopted his cautiousness. With the squad at full alert they moved with their heads and sensors on a swivel, scanning for any possible threat as they made final approach to their destination.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Sorry for the long wait. School as well as life and work have been unkind. Things are a little more managable now so Chapters should start coming out more often. I'm not dead and neither is this story.**

October 8, 18:42 Hours

Smoke billowed from the end of a large chasm of dirt lined with wreckage and fire. The bight yellow-green grass blackened around the fault in the landscape. This was only one of the two Goblin dropships sent to Caianna. The other was downed in a city square near a park, it had crushed a water fountain and several vehicles. The squad had split into two three man fire teams, they were currently patrolling the area for survivors, currently with no avail. Corporal Spencer was with Crates and Turner, the other team was comprised of Gomez, Fanucchi and Wardd.

Crates piloted his Titan closer to the twisted hunk of wreckage scanning the mangled exterior before moving towards the front of the ship. The nose of the Goblin was buried in dirt and asphalt. The force of the impact had also shattered the front windshields allowing Crates to peer inside the downed vessel. "No sign of the crew…" Crates muttered, switching his Titan's optics over to thermal detection. The ship was alive with reds and blues and oranges, but nothing in the shape of a person. "Yeah… definitely no signs of the crew."

Spencer disembarked his Stryder making his way over to one of the side doors of the dropship. With a bit of force he managed to slide the door open, the sound of metal grinding on metal hammering into the corporal's ears. He quickly swept the inside of the ship with his rifle before he made his way over to the cockpit section of the aircraft. As he was doing so he looked out the front of the ship to see Turner doing a little patrol of the area as Crates continued to check the ship.

Spencer got to work on a little access panel within the ship's control console, grunting with effort as he attempted to move the defunct co-pilot seat that was blocking his way. As soon as Spencer had moved the seat to get to the panel he frowned in dissatisfaction. "Black box is gone." He stated plainly, slightly disappointed with his findings—or lack thereof.

"Its gotta be around here somewhere." Turner responded, turning his Stryder to watch as Spencer climbed back into his.

"Or the Militia have it." Crates spat coarsely. "Only they would pull some shit like this." He grumbled, stepping away from the ship.

Spencer grunted in agreement, most of the locals didn't have the resolve, let alone firepower to engage the IMC directly. If the Goblin's black box was not within the vessel it was most likely in possession of the Militia. "Well if that's the case we need to start sweeping the area." Spencer suggested with a short sigh. "I'm going to radio in about the goblin, you two scan the buildings for any signs of Militia activity or presence." Spencer said standing up and dusting his pants off. He recieved acknowledgements from both Turner and Crates before Spencer clicked on his radio.

"Sarge, the Goblin over here is missing it's black box, we suspect Militia might have it. How are things on your end?" The corporal asked casually, removing most of the radio jargon that usually is included in most transmissions.

"Bad. Definate signs of a battle. We have dead soldiers, everywhere. No signs of Militia casualties." Wardd growled over the radio, he paused before speaking again. "No sign of the other dropship. We're stilling following the trail of destruction. I'll keep you updated." He spoke tersely before the radio snapped off.

Spencer sighed, things were bad. While he had suspected that the two platoons sent here were dead, hearing his suspicion be confirmed was worse. He climbed back into his Titan and began to complete his other objectives. "Find anything?" The corporal asked as he stomped his way over to his squad mates.

"Nothing. Just empty buildings." Crates spoke mock excitement in his voice.

"Thermals showed some corpses, most likely civilians. Other than that, we have no leads." Turner offered, his information much more helpful than Crates'.

Spencer thanked the two for their information before directing them to search the buildings, prompting complaints from Crates. "Come on man, we already scanned them why do we have to search them?" Crates whined.

Cpl. Spencer let out a deep, long sigh before replying. "Because scanners don't do justice. What if they stashed the black box in the building? Or if there are soldiers or Spectres hiding inside? We need to be sure." Spencer said firmly.

"Yeah, there are a few ways to hide from a thermal scan." Turner sided with Spencer.

"...Fine." Crates grinded out, almost a hiss. "But I don't like it."

"I don't care if you dont like it. I need you to do your job." Spencer said simply, disembarking his Titan for a third time today as he stood at the doorway of a large housing complex.

Spencer switched his helmet's optics over to low-light mode before unholstering his Silenced Hammond P2011 pistol. The G2A4 rifles they were provided were not suited for close quarters work. "I'll take point. Stack up on me." Spencer ordered as the trio approached the door to the complex. Spencer took a moment to glance behind him, making sure the other two were ready before he entered the building. Spencer tried the handle first, wanting to make their search as stealthy as possible. He twisted the doorknob and was met with an unexpected soft click. The door opened easily, "Stay frosty, door was unlocked, could be guys in here…" the Corporal muttered to the two privates behind him.

As Spencer crossed the threshold and entered the complex, the first thing he noticed were pock marks lining the walls and surfaces. Papers were strewn about the floor as well as numerous items being broken or damaged. Signs of struggle were prevalent in the small lobby on the first floor. The three tiptoed their way through the numerous bullet shells that covered the ground as they made their way upstairs.

"Ugh… Smells like death." Crates complained as the trio climbed the stairs to the second floor. The scene upstairs was nearly identical to the one in the lobby, the presence of civilian corpses the only difference.

"Dead Civilians…" Spencer sighed. He turned away from a father clutching their child, unable to bear the sight. "Turner," He said facing the taller man. "Check for any survivors… or stragglers. Don't want this place to have three more bodies to add to its count." Spencer ordered.

"Got it." Turner replied, beginning to prod the bodies with his boot, occasionally checking for pulses.

"Crates, we're going to check these rooms, we sweep each room and each floor. Remember we're looking for the black box." Spencer said with a glance back to his less than ideal wingman.

"...uh huh...Yeah. Got it." Crates grunted, a hint of dissatisfaction creeping into his voice as the pair made their way through the dark building.

Spencer resigned himself to a sigh before he moved to the first door of many that he was going to search. He placed the flat of his hand on the surface of the door before applying a small amount of force to the door. The door swung open with a soft creak, amplified by the dead silence in the building. Spencer swept into the room crouched down low, followed by Crates in a similar fashion, sidearms sweeping every wall and corner for threats before the room was deemed "clear". The room was a scene of chaos, clothes and various items strewn around the small apartment unit. There were two dead civilians in the first room, both slumped over on their knees, evidently executed. In one of the bedrooms was another corpse and more evident signs of struggle, as a woman naked from the waist down lay on the bed, her blouse yanked up over her head and caught on her arms. Dried tears streaked the woman's face, along with a face of terror and a quarter sized hole in the middle of her forehead. Spencer made an effort to keep his eyes off the scene and focus on the task at hand. Part of him wanted to stare in abject horror, while another part of him wanted to lash out in anger, yet another part of him seeked to mourn the dead. These emotions warred within him until he was jostled by Crates.

"...Hey! Spencer!" Crates said as he shook the corporal, causing Spencer to turn and regard Crates. "...hey, come on man. Lets get out of here, we got nothing in here. I'm going to take some photos, command is going to want to see them." Crates spoke softly, considerately, a rare occasion for the man in question, but even he could sense when someone was troubled.

Spencer simply nodded, trembling slightly from barely contained emotions. Killing soldiers and prisoners of war was one thing. But killing unarmed, fear stricken civilians was another. Not even the IMC stooped that low, and while Spencer did not like to admit it, the IMC could be pretty horrible in their own right. He was shaken, but he couldn't let it affect him, he didn't have the luxury of being distracted. "I'll be waiting at the next room, be quick, please." Spencer wavered, stepping out of the room.

Crates didn't have a snarky reply, another rare occassion. He simply place his hand on Spencer's shoulder and nodded his head, pulling out a small combat camera and snapping a few pictures of the dead before rejoining the Corporal.

"Turner, find anything?" Spencer sighed heavily.

"Nope, nothing. Just dead civilians, everywhere. I've been taking a few pictures here and there." Turner replied poking his head out of one of the many doors that lined the hallway.

Another sigh. "Acknowledged, regroup with us, we sweep and clear together, don't need to add any more casualties to the list." Spencer ordered as Crates returned.

"Got it." Turner was curt as he quickly returned to the other two.

The trio swept the other rooms and other floors in a similar fashion, many of the rooms empty, however a handful were repeated scenes of cowering, abused and executed civilians. Corporal Spencer steeled himself for this however, expecting to find similar scenes to the one he witnessed before. They had cleared most of the building before receiving a transmission from Sergeant Wardd. "Crates, Turner, Spencer, regroup. Now. I'll brief you when you get here." Wardd spoke before the radio snapped back off.

The three looked at each other, sharing confused body language and shrugs. Spencer made his way to the closest window, sliding the panel of glass open, allowing a cool, sharp breeze blow into the building. Glancing outside he noticed there were no threats aside from gravity as he hung half his body out the sixth story building. It was now night, a lack of moonlight causing the world to be very dark. A few fires from destroyed rubble and the scant amount of functional streetlamps and storefront signs the only source of illumination. Spotting his Titan Spencer double tapped the wrist mounted control harness, informing his Titan to move to his location while sweeping for hostile targets. Spencer lept out the window, firing his jump kit a few feet from the ground, effectively slowing his descent to a bone jarring landing. He then climbed into his Stryder, viewport flickering on just in time to see the other two climb into their own machines, following in Spencer's footsteps.

"Alright, be alert, not too much light out tonight." Spencer said calmly, glad to be back inside a Titan, even if it was a Stryder.

"Man this is the perfect setup for an ambush…" Crates muttered as they paraded down a desolate war-wracked main street. Many of the storefronts and vehicles vandalized or destroyed.

"It's not an ambush. Probably. I don't know. And even if it was we would just fight back three of us versus a bunch of foot soldiers would be easy." Turner said in reply, positive as ever.

The three walked down empty streets, vehicles vacant, some with engines still running. There were several crashed vehicles, along with a few corpses. The only movement that came from the dark street were stray papers and the three Stryders. Spencer continued to stomp his way down the long main street, scowling every time his Titan's camera's would wash out from the extreme darkness or extreme light. His Sergeant was about two clicks from the corporal's current position. It would be another five minutes before they would reach the rest of their squad.

"Man… they turned this place into a ghost town." Turner said absently.

Crates chuckled. "Man the Militia don't leave survivors. They always make a ghost towns. It's either 'join or die'."

"Yeah but there aren't any looters running around either. There are almost always people like that running around after disasters." Turner continued, now actively participating in a conversation with Crates.

"This isn't a disaster. This is war. IMC shoots looters, and the Militia… well I don't know what they do, but its probably some similar shit." Crates said with a huff of finality.

Spencer silently agreed, and continued to stay out of the conversation the two were having, which ended up spanning several minutes. Spencer then double tapped his radio to Crates and Turner, effectively silencing them. "Hey, we got dead IMC here, eyes up. Watch my back, I'm going to check for dog tags." Spencer said as he prepared himself to exit his cockpit.

He punched in a few commands, the display quickly winking off, followed by a hiss of pressure equalization and the hatch opening. Spencer dropped to the ground in time for Crates to speak up. "You mean you're going to check for IEDs." Crates chuckled. "Try not to blow up man, you're asking for it." Spencer turned to scowl at Crates, a pointless task as he could not see Crates' face and neither could Crates see his.

However, Crates' concern, however badly joked, was properly placed. Many corpses ended up being booby trapped. Something that was unique to the Militia, they tended to use hit and run tactics. Crouching down, slowly and carefully Spencer snaked his hand into the collars of the group of dead Grunts, fishing around for the small metal bead chain common of dog tags. He found none on the first two corpses, he figured he didn't need to check the others who were probably without dogtags as well. "Well…" Spencer grunted as he climbed back into his Titan, "There were no dog tags to be found." He finished as the Stryder's internals came back to life, showing the two Stryders who were watching his back

.

"And you're still alive!" Crates cheered in mock excitement.

Spencer growled in response but decided to play along. "Sorry for getting your hopes up."

"Yeah, well there's always next time." Crates chirped in an upbeat mood.

Sighing once more Spencer took point, piloting his Stryder ahead of the others, crossing the bridge in a single file line. The noise the Titans made in the dead quiet city, coupled with the fact that they were in nearly thirty feet tall robots walking across a bridge with nothing to conceal their movement severely downplayed the stealth aspect of the mission. Spencer tensed, things were almost never this quiet, he was starting to suspect that Crates may have been right about his ambush theory.

"Its awful quiet. I do not like this, this doesn't feel right." Turner spoke with a grunted whine.

"I told you. Ambush. We're walking into it." Crates said, offhandedly almost casually.

The Corporal simply switched the shoulder mounted equipment on, scanning the environment for anything that looked out of place. He scanned every bombed out building and abandoned car, every alley and side street, nothing was to be found. The only thing the sensors picked up were a large group of KIA signals and the rest of his squad, nearby. "We're approaching the rest of our squad. Stay alert." Spencer warned, before he switched his scanners off.

"Hey Sergeant, this is Spencer. I'm approaching from your south, I have Crates and Turner with me." Spencer clicked on his radio, signalling Wardd of his presence. It wasn't long before he received a reply.

"Good, I have Banshee with me. Meet up as soon as possible." Wardd was short, he spoke quickly before switching the radio off.

"What was that about?" Turner asked, intrigued by the sergeant's uncharacteristically coarse response.

"Don't know but something isn't right here..." Spencer replied, trailing off into contemplation. If something has the Sergeant spooked, it must be something big, or something very, very bad. Either way, Spencer didn't like it. "Lets double time it. I don't like where this is going."

"Oh great, lets _run _to the ambush!" Crates cheered sarcastically.

Spinning his Titan in place, Spencer lashed out. "Do you have some information that you would like to impart with us, Crates!? Because you keep going on about this ambush, and I would _really _like to know what we're about to walk into!" he fumed before taking a deep breath.

Crates was taken aback by Spencer's outburst, Crate's had never known him to lash out. Spencer usually either played along or just ignored it, the sudden change in personality caused him to stammer."N-no… just a hunch is all… I… I've got a bad feeling about this." Crates admitted, letting a ragged breath escape his lips before falling silent.

Spencer grumbled, said nothing and corrected his Titan to resume on the path he had previously started. It was a short, silent, tense journey to his commanding officer. A pair of pilots sitting on a crate that detached from an overturned cargo truck.

Banshee wore high mobility versions of the assault harnesses worn by most pilots, they stripped the wearer of armor in favor of mobility. The only armor the suits offered were a few plates on the legs and kevlar rigging. The pair turned to regard the three approaching Titans before they went on with their business. Spencer couldn't hear what they were saying but he could tell they were conversing from the subtle hand gestures, head nods and shifts in body language.

"Spencer, give me a sitrep." Wardd spoke as the pair of pilots stood up, dusting themselves off and stretching before picking up their gear again.

"Not good, they were executing civilians, found a few rape cases as well. No signs of any friendly personell… well ones that were alive anyways. That downed Goblin has had its black box removed. There was no sign of the crew either." Wardd stayed silent whilst Spencer spoke, a few faint grumbles and sounds of understanding the only audible utterance.

"...That… that is not good. We have a similar situation over here. Dead grunts, a downed Titan, no signs of survivors. Dead civilians, looks like a clean up crew came through here to be honest." Wardd grumbled, taking a long pause as the sound of a water canteen being upended was heard through the radio before he spoke again. "Banshee believes it was a smash and grab operation. Storett never received its shipment of spyglass units, they think it was probably on one of these Goblins. Militia took a preemptive strike here, not only did they kill an entire unit that was on a training operation, they killed the civilians in this area. Anyways, this needs to be reported to command. I've already sent them a radio message, we should be receiving a goblin for evac in a few minutes." Wardd finished with a grim tone of finality, while the situation wasn't necessarily new for the Militia, they've never been so thorough with a clean up, or been so extensive as to kill this many civilians.

"What about the other cities? Any signs of Militia out there?" Spencer asked, he remembered that Banshee was supposed to be checking for that.

"Banshee didn't say, but seeing as how we didn't get a radio transmission from command about new orders... I'd say it's safe to say that there were no Militia personnel or activities in the surrounding area." Wardd responded confidently, a smile creeping into his voice. It was good to cling onto a bit of good news, especially in dire times, and while the situation wasn't necessarily dire, it wasn't a good day, not by a longshot.

"That's good…" Spencer trailed off, he was unsure of what to think of the situation at present. The information or lack thereof from Banshee was good news, but the amount of innocents lost here was another story altogether. Spencer sighed, took a moment to accept what was going on and turned to view his surroundings, pausing when he saw a downed Ogre Titan, painted in the iconic white and greys of the IMC. Intrigued, Spencer moved his Stryder closer to investigate. "What's up with the Ogre?" Spencer asked over the radio as he stared at the front of the massive machine, a faint scuffed "Lt. McEvon" painted on the front of the machine.

"That was the Ogre belonging to the platoon commander, probably the one who was in charge of the training operations here. We didn't find anything with the scans. It's on top of part of the other Goblin, not much left of the thing. They must've hit the goblin with a high explosive missile, just little bits and pieces left." Wardd said almost matter-of-factly.

Spencer glanced around the scene, bits and shards of Goblin hull strewn around the courtyard. He nodded and hummed an affirmative.

Commanding his Stryder to place its weapon on the ground Spencer piloted the machine to move the Ogre, the Stryder placing both its massive hands on the sides of the wrecked behemoth and whining in protest and the arm's massive motors and servos struggled to move the hulking wreck. As Spencer cleared the machine from the wreckage the Ogre was pinning down, he had a fraction of second to hear a resounding fast paced beeping before his world went dark.

A deafening crackle followed by a thunderous boom was the only thing that could be heard as a massive shockwave of pressure was released across the entire courtyard. As the front of Spencer's Titan caught fire and the arms were blown off the machine. The machine teetered back and forth before groaning in defeat and collapsing backwards.

Wardd called out in a panic. "SPENCER! SPENCER?! Respond, shit! someone get me som-" Wardd started before being cut off by Gomez.

"AMBUSH! Spectre's in the buildings!" Gomez warned as he fired his weapon in the windows were angry fingers of death and fire flashes poured from the windows of the surrounding buildings.

Wardd growled and turned to the present threat. "Banshee! Get to cover. Omega! We cover Banshee, we need to get the hell out of here!" Wardd issued quickly. firing his own weapons.

"What about Spencer?!" Turner asked, faint pings and thumps could be heard over the radio as bullets impacted his hull.

"We can't help him now!" Wardd replied, dropping his spent magazine and driving home another.

"Watch out these Spectres have Anti-Titan weapons!" Fanucchi warned as a cluster of micro-rockets streaked past his Titan.

"Focus fire on those equipped with AT weapons!" Wardd ordered, receiving a flurry of acknowledgements.

The battle raged on for a few minutes before the shooting started to die out. However a transmission was received over open radio. "All units, this is Valkyrie 3-7, your evac is here. Landing half a click from your current position, LZ is too hot. Enemy reinforcements have been spotted on my first approach, Titans. I repeat, landing half a click from your position, enemy Titans are converging to your position." A young female voice said calmly over the radio as a Goblin dropship screamed overhead, followed by another dropship.

"We need to move to the LZ, now!" Wardd barked out as he watched Banshee dash off in the direction of the two goblins.

"What about Spencer?!" Gomez asked worriedly.

"I hate to leave him, but there's nothing we can do now." Wardd said solemnly.

"I'm not leaving him! He cou—" Gomez started in protest.

"If we don't leave now we're all going to die." Wardd said in a firm but understanding tone. "Im sorry, we need to go."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Crates said as he piloted his Stryder towards the evacuation ships, firing his 40mm cannon the entire way.

The rest of Omega Squad soon followed suit, moving from the center of the courtyard and down one of the main streets, making their way to the evac point. A hail of bullets chased the squad as they weaved their way through wreckage and rubble, dashing whenever the path would allow them to do so.

From inside of his Stryder Spencer groaned. True the Stryder had taken the brunt of the explosion was now inoperable, Spencer wasn't unscathed. The crash as well as the shockwave had given the soldier a light concussion, causing even the simplest of movements to be painful and clumsy. Fumbling with his harness, Spencer managed to unlatch himself climbing to the emergency hatch release. Positioning himself next to the escape hatch he yanked the release lever, causing the explosive bolts that held the escape hatch in place to fire from their sockets, taking the hatch with them. Spencer peered outside to see the Stryder's of his squad racing down the street and a hail of bullets filling the space inbetween.

Spencer swallowed the knot in his throat, and steeled himself to exit the Stryder. Moving as fast as his legs would allow him to, Spencer ran to the nearest building smashing through the already weakened front display glass. Spencer groaned as his body and concussion screamed in abject protest. Spencer lay on the floor for a short moment before leaping to his feet as his head flared in pain from the sudden movement. Spencer chuckled dryly to himself. This was the second time he had found himself in a similar situation, rushing to meet his squad with enemies chasing behind him.

Spencer doubted the enemies who were shooting the courtyard to hell were going to let him get away so he dashed like a madman to the backdoor, shouldering the thing open with all his weight as he kept barreling forward. As he exited the building, he ran right then made a sharp left, sprinting down a long narrow alleyway. The heavy rhythmic thuds of his boots and jingling of his gear echoing in the narrow space.

The alleyway emptied into a wide street which Spencer crossed, using his Jumpkit to reach the rooftops of the buildings from where he got a better line of sight and a clear view of his squad. He was starting to catch up as the larger Titan's had to weave through the various objects littering the streets.

The sight of his squad gave him a sudden burst of energy, and a ray of hope, he didn't particularly want to know what would happen if he was caught. Killed at worse, or tortured, perhaps even forced into the Militia, but of those three fates Spencer had no intention of finding out which one awaited him. Spencer double-timed it, picking up the pace, to which excruciating pain flared through his head, sending fire down his spine as he pushed his body harder than it would accept.

Spencer ignored the feeling to the best of his ability, footfalls occasionally wavering as he closed the distance between himself and his squad. As he neared the edge of the building at the end of the block he found his squad close enough for him to leap to them, which Spencer did. Firing his jumpkit as he lept from the building his arc landed him on top of his squad commander's Titan, to which he attached himself to the access ladder and synced his suit's systems to the Titan's systems.

"What the he—Spencer?!" Wardd exclaimed at the alert from his Titan's Operating System.

"Yeah, I'm here… mostly." Spencer huffed from exertion, then gave a short winded chuckle. "It's going to take a little more than that to kill me." Spencer joked as he adjusted his weakened grip on the Stryder.

"So, Spencer how did that IED taste?" Crates laughed.

"Like hugs and rainbows." Spencer said sarcastically, "How the fuck do you think it tasted?" He growled.

The squad shared a short chuckle. "Glad to have you back." Gomez said with a hint of relief in his voice.

The group spent the next minute in companionable silence before Sergeant Wardd spoke again. "Spencer, get ready to disembark. Evac zone is just ahead."

Spencer sighed and double clicked his radio, a sign of acknowledgement. As they came into another clearing a heavy wind followed by the fast rhythmic thrumming of the Goblin dropship's engines became deafening, something his concussion did not appreciate.

As soon as the aircraft were visible Spencer leapt off of Wardd's black Stryder, using the momentum to carry him forward to one of the nearby dropships. As he closed the remaining distance his Heads Up Display updated to show that one of his Squadmates, Omega 7-1 was onboard. Spencer recognized the ID number as Torrento, one of his squad members who had stayed behind when they were deployed.

"Hey man good to see you." Torrento said as Spencer boarded through the open side door. Torrento turned from the door mounted turret to glance at Spencer, "Hey where's your Titan?" Torrento questioned.

"Destroyed." Spencer answered tiredly, sitting down in one of the crew seats and resting his head in his hands.

"What?!" Torrento asked with a laugh. As two Stryders climbed into the expanded back space of the aircraft.

"I'll tell you later man. For now… for now, just let me rest." Spencer breathed heavily, he didn't sleep but he quickly zoned out. As the dropships whined as the engines roared into overdrive and zoomed off into the night and away from Caianna.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Don't like posting these too much, but this is the longest chapter yet, so if there are any errors that I have missed I apologize. Anyways, thanks for reading. Write a review and tell me what you think! **

**EDIT: Most of the errors should be fixed now. (There were a lot...quite embarrassing...)**

October 12, 19:01 Hours

The high pitched screaming and whistling of wind, along with the occasional pops and pings of stress as one of Omega squad's drop pods zipped through the atmosphere and to the ground were nearly deafening. The only sounds that were even louder than those were the impact warning siren blaring through the cramped, red tinged interior and the loud crackling of the airbrake thrusters firing off to slow descent to a survivable velocity.

Spencer, Gomez,Torrento and Turner all felt the gut wrenching deceleration akin to taking a sledgehammer to the abdomen as gravity returned to normal from the increased g-force of the drop pod deployment. Seconds later another bone jarring impact as the pod slammed into the ground, the long blade like landing gear embedding itself two feet into solid concrete. The instant the pod touched ground the group of pilots were already out of their safety harnesses, weapons at the ready. A small green light blinked into existence in stark defiance amidst the red-hued interior, signaling that the pod had equalized pressure and was ready to open. A split second of hesitation for a glance back to the rest of his squadmates and Spencer slammed the door release down, opening the pod to the hostile environment outside.

"Omega 1-1 this is Omega 5-1, we have successfully deployed and are currently en route to the primary objective, over." Spencer keyed in on his radio as he directed the three others across the street and into a small walled off courtyard. Arcing over the eight foot wall effortlessly as he fired off his jumpkit, placing himself and his section of Omega squad into safety.

"Affirmative Omega 5-1, continue your course, we will rendezvous when possible." Wardd responded in kind, light sounds of combat could be heard in the background.

"Attention all personnel, this is Captain North, Militia operators have set up shop here and have several facilities dedicated to cracking the encryption on those stolen Spyglass units. Your objectives are to prevent the enemy from receiving that data. Steal the Spyglass units back if possible, if not... destroy them, that data cannot fall into enemy hands." A small image of the Captain superimposed itself into his HUD, taking up the upper left corner of his vision, his face grim and serious. "Failure is _not_ an option. You know what to do." The man finished darkly before the transmission cut out.

Spencer nodded his head to no one in particular in regards to the transmission and set out again. "Careful, the fog and rain here have severely reduced visibility, stay on your toes." Spencer warned to his fireteam over local radio. Shortly afterwards a crass transmission from Crates was blared over the radio.

"FUCKING SHIT, GOD DAMNED SPECTRES WITH THEIR DAMN HEAT VISION! STOP CHEATING, I CAN'T SEE SHIT IN THIS FOG!" Crates roared over the radio, gunshots prevalent in the background.

"Crates, get your ass down! That's how you got shot last time!" Spencer heard over the radio as Fannuchi's voice came on over the radio.

Spencer sighed in response, and shook his head heavily. True, the fog was so thick that seeing farther than 40 feet was impossible, that coupled with the rain made visibility very low. And while Specters also relied on actual vision, perhaps more so than their human counterparts, they did have a heat vision mode which while considerably unreliable due to current weather conditions, did have its uses. Which in the current situation gave them a slight advantage to the situation at hand.

"Alright, well as you just heard, stay frosty, Specters are definitely a threat." Spencer said rhetorically.

He received a few chuckles and "gotcha"s as responses, other than that there was no talking. Silently they stalked their way across the small walled off area and into a small business building. Things strewn about in hasty attempts at evacuation. A few quick gestures of the hands and the fireteam split up to sweep the room. After a few moments an "all-clear" was given and they took positions at the various entrances and exits to the building.

"Checking upstairs and then we move." Spencer stated as he strode up the stairs three at a time, rifle at the ready. At the halfway point of the stairs his helmet's HUD winked several orange dots onto his local minimap, directly in front of him at the top of the stairs. As he neared the top of the stairs he triple clicked his radio, the signal for "assitance required", to which he received a flurry of double clicks followed by several blue dots converging to his position.

Just as Spencer cleared the stairs, he came upon sight of a squad of several Militia grunts. Snapping his weapon up to his eye-level Spencer looked down the Holographic sights of his R-101C and squeezed the trigger. Muzzle spitting angry flashes of rage and bright orange tracers. By the time the first grunt fell in a twisted crumpled heap and the shells of his first burst hit the ground the rest of Spencer's fireteam was with him, also firing at their own targets. Those few grunts who were not targeted first turned with wide eyes and horror stricken faces and they tried and failed to regroup and engage the IMC pilots.

A few more short bursts and sloppily returned fire from the grunts and the room was eerily silent. "Sweep and clear, watch for stragglers. Torrento hold this skybridge. Try to see what the hell they were shooting at. We regroup in two." Spencer ordered quickly, adrenaline starting to surge into his bloodstream. Quickly dropping mags and reloading his weapon, Spencer followed after Gomez who had started to move down the bridge ahead of him.

As Gomez cleared the other side of the bridge he was met with a hail of bullets, to which he narrowly avoided by diving to the ground. Fishing into his pocket he chucked a frag grenade and a stun grenade shortly afterwards. Spencer and Turner jumped into the room just after the frag grenade and stun grenade detonated, quickly cleaning up any stragglers. A quick check of the room and they found a machine gun nest secured within one of the corners of the room. The corner had a makeshift bunker constructed out of sandbags surrounded by several cases of ammunition. From inside a young man clad in olive green and orange stepped out, arms raised shakily above his head.

"D-Don't shoot! Don't Shoot! I-I surrender." The man pleaded, his voice cracking as he nearly broke into crying. Slowly getting on his knees with his arms still above his head, he pointedly tried to avoid looking at the pilots. "...I-I'll do whatever you want, j-just don't shoot me… please… I-I have a wife and kids." The man begged, light sobbing in his voice.

"So did those men and women you shot. They had families too." Spencer said unsympathetically.

"I was just following orders!" The man begged looking up to the Corporal to meet the barrel of a Hammond P2011.

"So am I." Spencer said plainly.

"N-NO WAI—" The man began before a loud crack rang out followed shortly by a wet splat as the man's cranial contents were ejected onto the walls and floor behind him.

Spencer stowed his sidearm without a word before turning to his squad who watched on. Turner and Gomez shrugged as Spencer regarded them. Torrento looked to the man and then to Spencer, who now held his R-101C loosely in his hands.

"That was harsh." Torrento said shortly.

"We don't have orders to capture, and even if we did bring him in he would of been shot anyways." Spencer said as he took one last look around the room before beginning to move to one of the exits of the building. "Turner, drop a beacon and lets move. We still have a mission to complete." While true Spencer would rather have not shot the man, he considered his actions the lesser of two evils, he simply sighed and resigned himself to his mission. Too much was at stake if the Militia won this battle.

"...Beacon dropped. So where to?" Turner said as he regrouped with the rest of the squad.

"Satellite scans say that there's another set of buildings across from here... about 30... meters or so, according to my Heads Up Display." Spencer said, as he peered out the threshold of the building, thick fog blocking any long vision, there was also rain which was starting to pick up in intensity.

"So what? We cut through the building, cross a...park? It looks like a park… then we hit our objective?" Gomez asked, checking his own map.

"That's the plan." Spencer said as he started to move outside, Sprinting across the street, praying not to run into another group of Militia or startled IMC. "Stay close, fog's thick. Don't get left behind."

As he rushed into the unknown he quickly became lost in a sea of endless fog, nothing visible aside from the asphalt below him. Relying on his original heading, the Corporal rushed steadfast in the direction that should let him out onto the other side of the street. A few seconds of running without any sort of reliable vision made the sounds around him more intense, almost ominous in their own respect. Footfalls sounded louder, every staccato report and explosion amplified. That sensation started to quickly fade however as the wispy vestiges of the buildings across the street slowly came into focus. The buildings were being pulled from the void of the night time fog as he neared closer and closer. The neon and holographic signs burning sanctuaries of light in the dense fog.

As he stepped up onto the sidewalk he kept pace moving quickly into the building, currently unoccupied, and took up a position in the room as he watched the rest of his team fall in. Before Spencer could make a quick headcount another transmission came in over his TACCOMM. "All assets, this is Saber Actual. Titans are ready for deployment and on standby. Say again, Titans are ready for deployment."

"Alright we need to get a vantage point on this location, see what we can of the park behind me, and deploy our Titans." Spencer ordered as the rest of his little fireteam fell in. As he received several affirmative responses, Spencer stepped out the room, into the park, and turned to face the building.

Firing off his jumpkit, he managed to propel himself up to the top of the building, it only being two stories tall. Grasping the ledge of the roof and pulling himself up he found the fog did not lessen with altitude. Still, he switched over to thermal, which gave him poor results, the thick fog effectively masking any intelligible heat signatures. He then switched over to the third vision setting allowing him to see various electric signals, to which he spotted several large concentrations, most likely Titans, all standing still, quite a ways off. Spencer reached into his bag, double checking his Anti-Titan weapon ammunition reserves before hailing his small fireteam.

"Alright, so we have several large electric signals, probably Titans. They are not moving so they probably don't have their pilots in them, doesn't mean they aren't dangerous. There's no way for us to tell if they're friendly or not, so be prepared for friendlies but expect hostiles." Spencer started as he placed his Titan request beacon out a few meters from the building he was on. "Call down your Titans and lets move."

"So what do we do if their friendlies? Are we going to link up with them?" Torrento asked shifting his weight as he readjusted his grip on his Spitfire Light Machine Gun.

"That depends on their objective. If it is the same as ours we probably will link up with them." Spencer finished just before he received yet another transmission on his HUD."

"Request received, standby for Titanfall." Saber 1-1 chirped over the radio before the coms snapped off.

A few moments later Spencer heard a symphony of Air-Brake Thrusters and a myriad of earthshaking thuds and several Titans were deployed in short order. The corporal and his small detachment of Omega squad moved to their respective Titans.

Spencer climbed into his Titan manually, easing effortlessly into the seat as the machine self righted. As the display flickered on a female voice greeted him. "Transferring controls to Pilot."

While Spencer was confused about the change in voice for his Titan he didn't dwell on it, trying to take the situation in stride he greeted the voice. "Hello, Vanessa, are we able to get a better visual in this fog?" He questioned.

Vanessa responded by changing the display's inside the Atlas to produce a hybrid of the standard vision as well as heat and electric signatures enhancing the image. While the result wasn't perfect it was better than being nearly blind. Spencer hummed to himself as he grinned slightly. "Thank you, can you share this with the rest of my fireteam?" Spencer directed as a friendly question.

"Very well." The Operating System promptly responded. "Alert: Multiple hostile Titans have been detected."

Spencer made a mental note of Vanessa's observation. '_Well… at least that was figured out._' He thought, '_Might as well warn my squa_—'

"Hey do we engage those hostile Titans?" Turner asked, interrupting Spencer's train of thought.

Corporal Spencer gave a short sigh,"No not yet, we need to close some distance. They're a ways off." Spencer said, speaking with a bit of anxious anxiety. He fidgeted in his seat and rotated his Titan on it's axis just slightly.

"Well there goes my 'maybe their friendly' theory." Torrento said in mock dejection. "So what's our course of action?"

Spencer thought for a moment before responding. "We need to try to get the drop on them, we can either rush in guns blazing or we can try to sneak up to the—"

"Sneak up?! In a _Titan_?!" Gomez laughed.

Spencer frowned, but continued nonetheless. "Those Titans are most likely guarding something important. So we need to take it. If we alert them too soon they could destroy whatever they're guarding." Spencer elaborated, "Either way they are in our way so we need to do this as safely as possible."

"He's got a point." Came Turner over the short-range radio they were using.

"Yeah, but Spencer tends to be a bullet magnet, even when he tries to be safe." Gomez mused.

"Hey that was just a few times! Not like that happens all the time…" Spencer glowered.

"Still, he does make a valid point." Turner said in support.

"Right. Well… what do you guys think we should do? Guns blazing or Stealth?"

"Lets just shoot up the place and get it over with…" Torrento huffed, almost bored.

"Ditto."

"Yeah same here."

"Well, that settles that then…" Spencer said with a grin in his voice. He never was one for 'subtle' it wasn't that he didn't appreciate things that took finesse or stealth. He just never really cared for them too much. Getting into the groove of combat, not sneaking around and getting outnumbered quickly, the thrill of the heat of battle, that was the excitement he liked. True, he preferred to be safe more than anything, but if he had a choice. He would rather be in the thick of it.

"Alright, pick your targets." Spencer ordered, commanding his Titan into action, stomping in long strides towards the enemy Titans.

"Mark em and Drop em!" Gomez cheered, his Stryder using its lighter frame and longer legs to quickly gain pace.

"Alert: Enemy Pilots are targeting your Titan." Vanessa warned. Spencer nodded to no one in particular and warned his Squad.

"Enemy Pilots! They've spotted us! Drop them." Spencer said quickly, before taking aim at a Militia pilot in the distance, from the hybrid vision his Titan was currently utilizing it was clear that the Pilot was wielding a Archer Heavy Rocket Launcher.

"Warning: Missile lock." Vanessa warned.

The corporal brought his targeting reticule over the Enemy pilot and fired a short two round burst. Overkill by most standards as the oversized rounds tend to leave nothing but sloppy entrails of soft targets. "Threat Neutralized." Vanessa said unnecessarily.

Spencer watched as tracers and rockets streaked from his allies who were also taking down Militia foot soldiers.

Spencer shot out multiple short bursts taking down grunts and Pilots alike. Most of the time he just stomped on people, their smaller caliber weapons not making a significant impact on his Atlas' shields. As they neared the other side of the park, reaching a large stream that ran through the middle of the well landscaped area the corporal spotted the enemy Titans in the distance starting to move. Spencer quickly keyed his internal radio. "Watch out the Militia are using their Titans. We outnumber them four to three, double up on targets then we all crush the remaining Titan."

After receiving a flurry of double clicks the corporal set his target to the Ogre on the right. Squeezing his trigger he unleashed the entire full-auto 20mm fury of his XOTBR-16 chaingun, as well as his cluster of Slaved Warheads. He watched as a set of quad-rockets also impacted the Titan. The Ogre's shields flickering pathetically as they winked out of existence, only mitigating a fraction of the hellstorm that was directed at it.

The Ogre stumbled back from the brunt of the assault before pressing forward. Spencer watched as the Ogre glowed a hellish orange before its shields snapped back into existence. The Ogre then responded in kind firing off a hail of plasma from it Railgun. Spencer dashed right narrowly avoiding the molten projectile. "Reloading, keep hitting him!" Spencer barked to Torrento. His own Ogre responding in kind with a Missile cluster and another few bursts from his quad rocket.

As Spencer finished loading in another drum, he glanced over to the other two pilots in his fireteam to find them in a similar predicament. A pair of Stryders dancing around as two Atlases exchanged blow for blow with their 40mm cannon and Triple-Threat launchers. While Spencer wanted to help he forced himself back to his own fight, unleashing another hail of 20mm bullets. As he fought and dodged another railgun shot he heard Torrento over the radio. "I'm reloading, keep on him, please."

As Torrento finished his transmission another notification appeared on his display, alerting him that the autoloading system had replaced the Slaved Warheads he had fired earlier. Spencer pulled up the targeting system for his warheads while continuing to wear down the Ogre's increased shields. Before he could fire off his Warheads however he had managed to catch a trio of Railgun shots which made short work of his shields. "Warning: Shields depleted." Vanessa warned as Spencer fired off the now locked Warheads.

However much to Spencer's dismay the Ogre dashed sideways, dodging the missiles. Spencer watched as the Warheads streaked past the Ogre and up into the air. Grimacing, the corporal emptied another clip of his chaingun just as more quad rockets streaked out to the Militia Ogre. As the Ogre caught another cluster of rockets its shields started to flicker and falter. Spencer watched as the Militia Ogre turned its attention to Torrento, unleashing a relentless of barrage of charged plasma. Spencer heard Torrento curse under his breath before speaking up. "Shields are gone. Activating Shield Core."

"Got it." Spencer replied as he drove home yet another magazine, unleashing hell on the Ogre. Just as Spencer reached the midway point of his drum a cluster of rockets impacted the shield of the Militia Ogre, causing them to fail. Spencer then watched as the Slaved Warheads he fired earlier returned from the sky, the targeting systems having redirected them back to the Militia Ogre. As the Militia Ogre was showered in explosive ordnance Spencer emptied the rest of his drum into the Ogre.

Without its shield to protect it the Militia Ogre was now taking heavy damage as it was being engaged by two Titans. The armor started to take heavy damage and fall off in some areas. The explosive warheads of Torrento's quad rockets covering the green armor in black soot. Relentlessly the two rained death upon the Ogre who unfortunately could not stick to a target. As the pilot switched between Torrento and Spencer, only dealing light armor damage to both Titans, they started to back up, firing as they retreated. Spencer dashed to close the mounting distance, to which the Ogre responded by dashing away, but not before throwing a disorienting fist into Spencer's Atlas and unleashing a flurry of cluster missiles.

"Warning: I have sustained damage to multiple systems. Primary servo motors offline… switching to backup." Vanessa said as several loud and disheartening sounds echoed inside his Titan. He cursed to himself, '_Damn, I walked straight into that one._' Spencer unleashed another burst of anger as he dashed forward, just in time for Torrento's quad rockets to find purchase on the enemy Ogre, causing the machine's internal systems to catch aflame.

Spencer reared his Atlas' fist back and plunged it into the cockpit of the Militia Ogre, grabbing hold of the pilot inside. Spencer looked to the man struggling in the grasp of the mech's hand for a moment. He grinned sickeningly and reared the Atlas' arm back, much to the protest and increased struggles of the pilot. He paused for just a moment, some part of him taking pity before he shook his head. '_No. If the roles were reversed, he would do the same to me..._' Spencer thought grimly, before swinging the Atlas' arm forward as hard as the limiters would allow, hurling the pilot at the nearest building.

Spencer watched as the pilot smacked into the wall, splattering in a mess of blood, bone and armor as a mangled corpse slowly peeled from the wall and fell the pavement below with a sick splat. Spencer looked from the corpse, to the wall which had several hairline fractures from the impact, then back to the body before mentally returning to the combat at hand.

Turning his attention back to the other group of Titans fighting, Spencer fired off the remainder of his drum at the green Stryder that was currently dancing in locked combat with Gomez and his own Stryder. The rounds fired seemed to tip the odds in their favor as the Militia Stryder, which was already weakened paused to turn and regard the new threats, giving Gomez enough time to land the killing shots with his weapon. The Militia Stryder stumbled as the pilot ejected and then attempted in vain to take one of the IMC Titans with it, as its Auto-Titan began to fire with arguably ineffective results at the other two pilots. Spencer turned to eliminate the ejected pilot but received clicks as responses to his trigger pulls. Dropping drums and slapping home another had given the enemy pilot enough time to get into the safety of a building.

"Alright... Torrento lets finish this guy off." Spencer said as he started to close distance to the other group.

The remaining Militia pilot seeing as he was now outnumbered four to one switched on their external radio. "WAIT WAIT! I SURRENDER! THIS ISN'T WORTH MY LIFE!" A young male voice called out. While the Titan comically dropped its weapon and raised its arms.

Spencer watched on puzzled and directed his fireteam to cease fire. As he contemplated what to do he received a transmission. "Omega 5-1this is Raptor 1-1, we are approaching from your south and are ready to assist with enemy Titans, over."

Spencer sensing this opportunity responded to the man. "Deactivate your Titan, get out and drop your weapons. If you try to run we will shoot you." Spencer rumbled authoritatively. To Spencer's appreciation the Pilot complied, turning the machine off and exiting through the top hatch of the deactivated Atlas.

"Raptor 1-1 this is Omega 5-1, we have a Hostile Pilot who wishes to surrender think you can take them back to our FOB?, over." Spencer spoke over the radio.

"Omega 5-1 this is Raptor 1-1, Affirmative, I will split my squad and I'll escort the pilot back. Over." The voice responded just as a large cluster of dots came on to Spencer's radar, all marked with friendly IFF tags identifying them as Raptor Squad.

Spencer watched as the squad commander, a person with the bars of a Lieutenant walked up to the pilot who had his arms raised, several IMC grunts with their weapons trained on the man.

"Rojas, strip him of his gear, make sure he doesn't have anything hidden on him." The Lieutenant ordered.

Spencer and his fireteam watched on as the Militia pilot had his gear removed. As they took the man's helmet from him Spencer looked on with surprise upon his expression. The pilot was just a kid! Probably no older than sixteen at the oldest fifteen at the youngest.

"He's clear!" Spencer heard the man, Rojas, called out, much to the Militia Pilot's relief.

"Alright. Stevens! Grace! McKnight! On me, we escort this man back to our FOB. Rojas, you have command until I return." Raptor 1-1 called out, before leaving with three other men and the Pilot. Spencer waited for the group of soldiers and their prisoner leave the area before ordering his fireteam to dismount and doing the same himself.

Spencer walked up to a man with a thick medical harness covering his armor a large block print "ROJAS" painted on the back of his helmet. "Listen, Rojas. There's another pilot in that building and most likely some Milita. My squad is going to rush in, when you hear fighting I need you and your squad to rush in to assist." Spencer said as he checked his own gear. He then turned to his Titan, its chest hatch still open, interior steaming as cold air hit the climate controlled cockpit. "Vanessa, guard this Titan, make sure the Militia don't take it back."

"Very well." Vanessa responded over the loudspeakers.

"Got it sir, you can count on us." The hispanic man grinned with a nod of his head.

Spencer made a few hand gestures, signaling his fireteam to get into place. As he made his way to his position he received a private transmission from Torrento. "I thought we didn't have orders to capture the enemy."

"You know the rules are different for Pilots, besides. He was just a kid. I'd like to think that I am not killing kids here." Spencer replied with a sigh.

"And I would like to think that my fireteam leader isn't a hypocrite." Torrento shot back.

Spencer frowned and suppressed his urge to lash out. "Now is not the time for this, focus up or go back to the FOB. I need soldiers right now, not whiners." Spencer ground out.

Switching his radio back to the fireteam Spencer spoke before Torrento could respond. "Alright, sweep and clear. Go go go!" He directed, as he and the other three swept into the room, taking down a squad of Grunts who were busy trying to pack everything up. As Spencer rounded the corner he ran into a pair of Spectres. He managed to get a burst out into the closest Spectre, the recoil taking the bullets through the machine's chest, neck, and head. However, before he could fire on the second Spectre, he found himself tackled and pinned to the ground by inhuman strength, cold metallic hands around his throat. Gasping for air and beginning to panic, Spencer tried to throw his weight to no avail. The increase in strain had eaten up a good chunk of his strength, knowing his squad was busy with their own targets the corporal knew that by the time his squad would reach him it would be too late.

Switching into overdrive Spencer fumbled to free his knife, and as soon as he found purchase on the handle he quickly jammed the blade into the neck of the drone, angling the blade to hit the electronics housed in its head. Just as the wispy vestiges of tunnel vision appeared he was free of the death grip. He wanted to lay there and recover his strength but he knew the building was not clear yet.

Shifting the now defunct machine off of him with no small amount of effort Spencer retrieved his R-101C and continued his sweep. He reached a room with a large data terminal, with several cables and cords running up to the roof. '_Minimal user interfaces… must be externally monitored._' He thought as he retrieved a hacking package from his grabsack on his thigh. Attaching the various cables to the ports on the machine proved a menial task and soon the device started pulling data and breaking down firewalls.

Spencer had a feeling his hunch about the data terminal was correct as moments after a pilot and a small detachments of grunts flooded the building. "Shit! Reinforcements! ROJAS, PILE IN! PILE IN!" Spencer yelled over the COMMS as he dove to cover behind a set of heavy duty crates, narrowly avoiding being shot.

"Gotcha. Raptors in! Talons out!" Rojas yelled as a battlecry, rushing into the building, his squad right behind him.

Spencer listened on a war raged on in the other, much larger rooms while he handled the five Militia foot soldiers who managed to get the drop on him. Spencer pulled the pin and dropped the spoon of a frag grenade on his belt before chucking it over his cover and at the direction he was last shot from. He heard a panicked, "GRENADE!" before a resulting crackle of smoke and thunder. Just as the grenade exploded the Pilot popped back out of cover, taking down the grunts that had left their own cover to get to safety. Moving quickly to check the corner the grunts were previously in, he found the mangled corpses of the other grunts. Deeming the room safe for the moment Spencer went back into the main room of the building to witness a large firefight unfolding.

To his right were several Militia grunts and their incoming reinforcements, blind firing and taking pot shots at the IMC forces on the left. The IMC were using the same tactics, a few brave souls either rising from cover to get a better shot and actually striking an enemy down, or being torn to chunks by the hail of tracer rounds flying back and forth. From his vantage point Spencer would be able to pick off three... maybe four Militia before being noticed. Taking note of this, Spencer moved from his doorway and to a stack of metal wall panels leaned up against the handrail to a set of stairs. Poking his head out just enough to see a group of Militia currently hunkered down behind a set of heavy duty computer carts reloading their weapons and making hastened hand movements - they seem as good a group as any.

Laying his sights on a bulkier grunt covered with various explosive ordnance, Spencer positioned himself so that his recoil would take down a good chunk of the group before he would have to readjust his aim. Taking several deep breaths to calm his quickened heart rate the IMC pilot took a final deep breath, firing his weapon just as he let out the held atmosphere.

A resounding automatic bass-filled crack of the R-101C emanated from the metalwork in his hands, as the machine cranked out golden-brass shells to tinkle onto the ground with dainty metallic pings. Spencer watched as the first two grunts folded under the hail of bullets, the third taking one in the arm and shoulder followed by a killing round to the temple. The fourth grunt turned in time to be struck in the gut and chest to which she screamed out in pain. Flinching slightly from the sight, Spencer quickly put another burst into her writhing body, causing her to twitch twice and expire.

Just as Spencer had finished with that group and dropped the half spent magazine from his weapon, he was met with a hail of angry pops, pings and plinks as bullets tore up the area around him. Cursing, the corporal whipped back into cover, fumbling to slam a fresh magazine into his weapon. Just as the metal storm around him started to peeter out the young pilot popped back out to fire on another squad of Militia. Firing at another squad of Militia who were now faced to strike their new flanking threat, they were caught in crossfire from Spencer's squadmates however as they repositioned themselves. Spencer instead quickly snapped his aim up to the second floor inside balcony as a Militia Pilot had positioned himself in at a vantage point.

Taking aim he squeezed off a shot which deflected off of the Pilot's helmet, much to Spencer's dismay as the pilot turned and fired at his position, the height of the corporal's cover the only reason he wasn't dead at the moment. Spencer waited as he heard a jump kit fire off as well as a heavy thud nearby alerted him to the Militia pilot's presence. However the cacophony of noise inside the building masked much of the sound, preventing Spencer from getting a bearing on the noise's origin. Head on a swivel, he began to look for any sign of the nearby pilot as best he could from his cover, becoming hypercritical of his surroundings. As he looked to his left and right and occasionally poked his head around the cover to see in front of him, he heard a series of rapid footfalls. Snapping off a quick 360 degrees in place, the IMC pilot turned just in time to see the militia pilot rushing him, as he raised his weapon just a fraction of a second too slow he heard a trio of rounds directed towards him.

He looked on in surprise as a loose pattern of bullets struck the pilot mid stride in the chest. The Militia pilot stumbling from the sudden impact and pain as he began to lose stride. His rifle now leveled Spencer unleashed the remainder of his 24 round clip into the pilot's abdomen, causing the olive clad man to stumble to his knees with a short slide just short of Spencer. Quickly rising Spencer brought the brunt of his weight and force into the butt of his rifle as he slammed it into the head of the Militia pilot with a rewarding crack as the pilot's head snapped back from the impact, his body slumping backwards and coming to a rest on its side.

Now that the immediate danger was not in his face Spencer turned to look who shot the pilot to see a grunt—Rojas, give a thumbs up from the cover he was hunkered behind. "Thanks Rojas…" Spencer let out a ragged breath.

"Don't mention it. Said Raptor has your back, right?" Rojas chuckled, a smile in his voice.

"Yeah… thanks for that assist. Saved my ass… I owe you one." Spencer joked as he took down another group of Militia who were starting to pull back, out of the building.

"Drinks on you back on the Eden, okay?" Rojas laughed.

"Sure thing." Spencer said before quickly adding, "Watch it! Spectres to your left." He said as he attempted to fire on the Spectres who had flanked Raptor squad. His shot went wide, missing the Spectre entirely, which opened fire just as Raptor squad turned to face the threat to their left.

The Spectres managed to hit a man in the leg and stomach before killing two more just as Spitfire bullets chopped the machines down. The fire paused temporarily, whilst Torrento adjusted his aim and laid down covering fire for Raptor squad as they dragged their dead and wounded to safety. Moments later as Raptor secured their allies, they resumed fire as the rest of the Militia forces either left out the building or made vain attempts at avenging their fallen.

As the building fell silent Spencer moved to Rojas who was performing a headcount. "Anders, give me a sitrep." Rojas spoke as he fiddled with his Medical harness, removing the various supplies and pouches from their rigging.

"Not, good! Yang is fucked up!" A young voice called out in a panic.

Spencer watched as Rojas rushed over to a middle-aged man of asian descent and began to get to work, looking over the wounds and performing a pseudo triage on the man's wounds. Spencer looked on for a moment then motioned to his squad as they slowly formed back up. "We pursue the Militia, do not let them regroup and regain their strength." The corporal ordered as he moved towards one of the open doors that the Militia had fled through.

Quickly, he opened another radio channel and hailed Rojas, "Thanks for the assist, we are pushing ahead… Sorry for your losses…" Spencer said awkwardly, he had never been good with offering condolences to the grieving, often times he felt it wasn't his place to offer comfort. However, this was one of the few times he felt he had to say something.

"...Thanks…" Rojas said, he sounded troubled. He sniffled before speaking, "We're going to wait here. Take care of Yang, then wait for the rest of our squad. We'll link back up with you when we can." Rojas said grimly, but distracted.

"Affirmative." Spencer said as he snapped the COM off. As he rushed through the thick fog the rain had gone from a heavy rain to an absolute downpour.

"It's raining buckets out here." Gomez noted.

"Thanks captain obvious." Turner said playfully.

"Vanessa, to me please." Spencer said over his Titan's dedicated communication channel. "Everyone call your Titans we may need them." Spencer said with a shiver as the cold environment had an added bite to it now that he was thoroughly drenched. He waited a few moments until he heard and felt the heavy footfalls and miniature earthquakes as four Titans came into view, the hulking towers of metal scanning the environment as they picked their respective pilots up, placing them within their metal sanctuaries.

"Welcome back." Vanessa said her voice flickering with metallic reverberation. "Alert: Hostile pilots are engaging friendly pilots within your area."

Spencer took this queue to radio the other half of his squad as Omega squad was the only one assigned to this area. "Omega 1-1 this Omega 5-1, what is your sitrep." The corporal inquired as he piloted his Titan in the direction the Militia had run off to.

"Not good… Crates is wounded, and we're stuck in a Militia sandwich right now. Knight Squad has shown up but grunts aren't what we need right now. They can hold their own, but this place is a damn killzone, they aren't stupid so they've mostly just hunkered down, haven't been much help…" Wardd said over the radio, his voice almost drowned out from gunfire.

Spencer grimaced at the bad situation but offered some good news for his commander. "Got it, we are approaching the objective from South by South-East. We have our Titans." Spencer said as he quickly switched his radio to short-range. "Double-time it guys."

"Good, we're going to need them, we underestimated their numbers here, and these bastards are fighting tooth and nail." Wardd said as the COMMs fell silent and the harsh background noise with it died down.

"Alert: Enemy Titans have been detected within your area 70 meters and closing." Warned Vanessa as they neared the raging firefight. Tracers and explosions being the only real visible signs battles, as a sea of oranges and greens flew back and forth. Spencer watched on as Vanessa painted allied soldiers in the environment and highlighted enemy forces within the range of her sensors.

Turning to the closest Titan, the corporal and his allies concentrated fire on a single Stryder which crumpled quickly under the hail of retribution. "Alert: Friendly Pilot is rodeoing your Titan." Vanessa quipped as Wardd climbed onto the access ladder on his Atlas.

"Keep going, you guys have better visuals than us at the moment…" Wardd said while Spencer watched a cluster of Sidewinder rockets streak towards the outline of another Titan just barely visible in the considerably worsened atmosphere. "Just… uh... try not to get shot." Wardd added with a chuckle as Spencer dashed sideways narrowly avoiding a shot from a charge rifle.

"Got it, will do." Spencer said as he fired a burst of 20mm armor-piercing rounds into the building that the offending charge rifle shot came from, pained screaming soon following. "...No promises though."

The IMC now with Titans to support their advance were slowly starting to gain a foothold. The Militia forces flanking them from behind having been eliminated, had been a turning point in the battle as Knight soon followed by the rest of Raptor squad joined the fray. About twenty minutes had passed and soon the IMC had closed in on its objective, the Militia hacking center where the Militia worked remotely to crack the encryption on the Spyglass units.

However despite the gains the IMC were making they were not without their own losses, Spencer's Titan had taken heavy damage, Gomez and Torrento had lost their Titans to a group of Pilots, grunts and a Ogre Titan. Knight squad had also lost five of its twenty four members. However their loses were about to be avenged. One more push and the IMC would not only deny the Militia an assured victory they would also have a strategic location as well as caused the Militia to take heavy losses.

"This is it! All units push and take the objective. We can't let victory escape us now!" Wardd yelled to all open channels within the area.

The corporal could not help but grin at the uproar of almost fifty battle cries through his radio.

"Spencer, Turner, you two keep watch, make sure enemy Titans don't escort any reinforcements to this buildings." Wardd ordered as the bulk of the IMC forces in this area flooded a large building, to which the sounds of a pitched battle soon drifted through the dead air outside, sounds muffled by the torrential downpour.

"I guess I'll take the north side of the building." Spencer sighed, the excess adrenaline in his system causing him to get fidgety. "Call out if you need assistance." Spencer said as he walked his Titan around the large building. Shooting the occasional pilot who attempted to flee the building out one of the windows.

Soon, due to the lack of action, Spencer found himself being lulled to sleep by the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain. As his head bounced off his chest he shook himself awake, turning his attention to the gloomy environment around him whilst a war raged on inside the building behind him. He figured taking a short stroll around the area to make sure it was safe would wake him up. Checking the building one last time before walking out to patrol the surrounding area, Spencer quickly distanced himself from his ward.

Once again finding himself starting to drift off Spencer opened the hatch to his Atlas and hopped to the ground, figuring some stretching would wake him back up. As he reached the ground he realized the error of his actions as he splashed down into a deep puddle with goopy mud trapping his legs at the bottom. The frigid water coupled with the freezing rain quickly soaked the man through again. Firing his jumpkit to help free himself from the mud he climbed back into his Titan, shivering the whole while. '_Yep...definitely awake now..._' He thought as he cranked the internal temperature up a few degrees inside the cockpit of his Atlas.

As he started to warm up again he received a transmission from Wardd. "Good news and bad news, Militia managed to crack one of the Spyglass units. Good news is we stopped them from cracking the others and we've secured their facility." The Sergeant said a hint of triumph was in his voice.

"Any friendly casualties?" Spencer said reluctantly.

"...Yeah. Staff Sergeant McKnight… and a few from Knight Squad…" Wardd sighed. "We're going to clean up here, then press on to where the Militia is holding the last of the Spyglass units.

"Alright...well… I am ready when you are. Give the word and I can escort us there" Spencer said turning his Titan around towards the building. While he couldn't see the building he knew it was there, about a football field away judging by the distance on his map. He had done a bit of straying, trying to keep himself awake.

"Okay, I've sent Crates to ride your Titan, he can't walk too well right now." Wardd said as Spencer saw a blue dot hobble towards him, pausing occasionally as he sunk into the mud of the grassy field or shiver from the cold. "When you two link up we'll head out."

"Affirmative." Spencer said as he stepped his Titan closer Crates sympathetically.

However as the corporal closed the distance Captain North broadcasted again. "All Units this is Captain North. Sensors indicate that a massive thunderstorm has entered the mission area. All pilots are to leave their Titans immediately." North said as a streak of white hot light struck off somewhere in the distance. "All units are to seek shelter immediately,mission will resume when the weather clears up. All air support has been grounded for the time-being and will not be available for evacuations at this time." North went on. "We can fight the enemy but we can't fight the weather. I repeat all units are to seek immediate shelter until further notice." North repeated just as the transmission ended.

Complying with his orders, also not one to chance walking around in a thirty foot tall lightning rod, Spencer disembarked his Titan and set the machine to standby. Watching as the cockpit and access ports closed, sealed and locked. Satisfied, he turned to Crates who had caught up to him.

"Lets get to those buildings behind you." He said as he limped briskly past Spencer, shrugging off the corporal's gesture for help.

"Spencer, this is Ward. You and Crates hole up, we'll meet up when the weather clears." Wardd said, before adding a solemn, "Be safe."

"Got it, will do. That is if I don't murder Crates before the morning." Spencer joked.

He didn't receive a response from Wardd, just the sound of rain and Crates' soft cursing whenever he moved in a way that caused his wound to flare up.

A few minutes of icy trailblazing and the two had reached a building, an average sized house, to which Spencer tried the handle, the door opening with a soft click. '_Well… that was unexpected._' He thought as he entered the building. Glad for the refuge, however he didn't dwell on why the door was unlocked, instead turning to help Crates who was taking a little longer than Spencer liked.

"I'm wounded, not crippled. I can handle myself." Crates said crassly as Spencer locked the door behind him.

Spencer sighed, Crates wasn't his ideal choice of roommate, despite being assigned to bunk with the man back on the IMS Eden, still some company was better than none. Instead the young pilot sighed, and gave a soft smile, he was glad to be out the rain, and the IMC was winning a decisive battle, after a string of losses on smaller operations it was nice to get back to winning again.

With a sigh Spencer sat down on one of the metal chairs in the modern decorated house, for a much deserved rest while Crates looked around the home. They could work out who would watch what shifts later, for now he would rest.


	6. Chapter 6

October 12, 21:23 Hours

This place was nice, most likely a vacation home, there was a beach with a beautiful bay not too far from here if Spencer remembered correctly. The room was decorated in sleek, elegant lines, the monochrome decor only broken up by the rich light brown wood floor and a few holoframes, showcasing a happy couple in various outdoor locations, Spencer recognized a few of the locations, making silent sounds of approval at each picture he scrutinized. As the rain continued to downpour Spencer stood and looked for the thermostat, eventually finding it in a similarly decorated kitchen, the large cavernous space feeling excessive to the single person within its oversized boundaries. Looking at the touch-screen controls he removed his right glove, keying the thermostat on in an attempt to raise the nearly frigid temperature of the house.

"Damn… these people are decked out…" Crates remarked over the radio as he continued his tour of upstairs. "Four Bedrooms… all of them massive. A Den is up here too…Where can I get rich like them…?" Crates joked, which admittedly caused Spencer to chuckle to himself.

"Yeah. This place is nice… wouldn't mind livin' here. Know what I mean?" Spencer responded as he continued to look around, casually checking rooms for any stowaways.

"Seriously. This makes the IMS Eden look like a cardboard box under the highway." Crates mused.

Another chuckle from Spencer. He walked down a long hallway, lined with more holoframes, weapon kept loosely at his chest level, ready to snap up in a moments notice. Passing a door on his right, Spencer fumbled with the locking mechanism, the sound echoing in the vacant hallway, only slightly muffled by the environs outside. Eventually the tumblers to the lock cranked back to allow access to a large garage. The first sight Spencer took in was a small collection of older cars, all sleek and aerodynamic, his gaze was then turned to a large utility vehicle, the luxury inspired design complementing it's rugged outdoorsy look quite well. He also noticed a oil stain in a spot adjacent to the off road vehicle, most likely the other car the couple used.

"One of their cars is gone. They must have evacuated. They do have a nice collection down here though…" Spencer mused over the radio.

"Damn, these people must be well off to just up and leave like this then." Crates chided.

"Hey, no amount of money is worth your life." Spencer said, "I mean what good is it if you can't spend it right?"

There was a long pause the only sound was an estranged humming, often the only indicator that Crates was actually using his brain to think something over. "...I suppose you're right, but still… It's a damn shame." Crates spoke, a sharp gasp of pain interrupting his words.

Spencer simply smiled, Crates usually didn't admit others were right, he often just opted to not point out how wrong people were. A small victory, yes, but a victory all the same.

There was another long moment of silence, there wasn't much to talk about, most of the time Crates and Spencer didn't get along. Aside from fighting together for the IMC there wasn't much the two had in common. As such, they rarely spoke, Spencer more focused on making sure they were alone in the house lest they get ambushed, while he assumed Crates was doing the same. Crates was stubborn but he wasn't stupid, Spencer could admit, at least, that much. A few more rooms were swept in a semi-casual fashion, a guest room, a den of some sort and even the laundry room and bathrooms of the downstairs before Spencer was certain the lower half of the house was clear of other occupants.

As he started to relax he looked out the window to hear another strike of thunder crash into the earth. They were starting to become more frequent as the storm still gained intensity. He started to wonder idly if they had managed to irk the ire of some celestial being. Spencer looked out the window for a few moments, the little amount of ambient light let through the horrid weather outside bathing the room in a dim pale indigo that cast odd shadows that fled from the light. A soft grin spread to his features as he thought to himself, '_Glad I'm not out there…_'

A few moments later Spencer tired of watching nature's wrath and moved to click his COMM to radio Crates when he received a triple click before he could talk. Suddenly completely alert as his energy spiked he rushed down the hallway back into the foyer of the house taking a sharp turn almost in place as he bound up the steps three at a time. Taking a short pause to check the hallway the stairs emptied into he found Crates to his right crouched near a wall pointing his C.A.R. SMG to a door which was barely open, the scantest line of vision allowing the pair to see into the dark room.

"Sitrep." Spencer said quickly, gravity in his voice.

"Heard a noise, only side of the house I haven't checked." Crates said tensely, his breathing slow and almost meditative, trying to focus all his energy into this situation.

"I'll check it out." Spencer growled out in a low voice, glancing down to his R-101C assault carbine, his contextual HUD displaying 25/24 loaded into his weapon. '_Good, full clip and one in the chamber…_' He thought as he crept up to the door. "Watch my exit." Spencer added as he closed up distance to the door.

"Yeah, gotcha." Crates added calmly.

R-101C leveled to the door, Spencer stalked his way over to the door smoothly and quickly, making the scarcest of sounds as he closed distance to the door in a half-crouch. He turned his head quickly to look over his shoulder to which Crates gave him a nod. Nodding back Spencer moved his left hand from the rifle, his right firmly affixed to the pistol grip of the weapon. The moment the flat of his gloved hand touched the door he heard a trio of deafening cracks. Whipping around in place he spotted a Militia pilot with an EVA-8 Semi-Automatic shotgun in hand, barrel smoking from the recent discharge of rounds. Spencer watching Crates slump towards the wall, motionless sent the young corporal into a rage. Vision distorted with hate and sorrow Spencer yelled out in protest as he leveled his weapon. However before he could pull off a shot Spencer heard the door behind him fling open.

Spencer cursed to himself as he turned his head back to see a pair of green gloved arms place him in a headlock. Spencer quickly dropped his rifle and struggled with the man choking the life out of him, thrashing madly. Using all of his strength and anger Spencer forced not only himself but his assailant to a complete stand before throwing his weight backwards crushing the man behind him. The man's grip loosened slightly from the brunt of the impact, allowing Spencer to take in a much needed gasp of air before the hold redoubled itself.

Spencer watched as the Militia looked from Crates to Spencer, casually walking down the hallway. Panicking, Spencer started to feel around their two interlocked bodies, looking for something, anything, that would save his hide. As his hands performed their blind search he found purchase on a handle. His extensive weapons training he received as a pilot instantly telling him he held a B3 Wingman in his hands. Pulling the weapon free Spencer felt the grip loosen as the man choking him tried to kick Spencer away from him, somewhat belabored as Spencer still laid on top of the man albeit on his back. Spencer quickly brought the weapon to bear, angling the weapon directly at the head of the man holding him.

A quick, panicked "NO! WAIT!" was all the grunt had managed to yell out as Spencer depressed the trigger of the sidearm, effectively blowing the back half of the man's head off, emptying the man's cranium of all content. As the body began to slacken Spencer noticed the pilot was no longer taking their merry time and was now rushing Spencer, EVA-8 shotgun leveled. In a one in one thousand shot, Spencer whipped the magnum back down and squeezed off a single shot, clipping the EVA-8 shotgun in the muzzle break, blowing the mechanism in half and wrenching the weapon from the pilot's hand.

The pilot let out a curse as they dove to the ground, already reaching for their sidearm. Spencer quickly rolled over, bringing the corpse with him as the pilot fired off six B3 wingman shots, all of them either missing from the weapon's considerable kick or striking the corpse, but not having enough muzzle velocity to punch through an armored corpse, let alone a second set of body armor. In response the corporal simply blind fired the B3 wingman, emptying the rest of the six round chamber. Spencer waited a few seconds before rolling the corpse off of him to survey the hallway. With no sign of the Militia pilot Spencer quickly lept to his feet, still seething. As he snatched his R-101C from his feet, he quickly swept the hallway's shadows before rushing over to Crates, who by some testament of God or some higher being was still alive, however, Spencer suspected not for long.

Crates had managed to roll himself onto his back, clutching his stomach to hold the tattered ribbons of flesh that had torn off his body, keeping his entrails in his body with his hands. Crates looked weakly to Spencer then back at the mess of his torso. Crates had lost a lot of blood and his legs were twitching. He coughed, his entire body convulsing from the pain that wracked it before speaking.

"...I...I c-cant… my legs… I-I can't feel my legs…" Crates groaned out, voice strained from what Spencer could only assume was incredibly agonizing, crippling pain. Spencer didn't say anything as he pulled out several morphine syringes, pricking all of them into Crate's thigh.

"I...I'm not… I'm a dead man...huh?" Crates gulped dryly as he laughed weakly. Spencer was taken aback by this, how could he possibly joke at a time like this.

Spencer couldn't bring himself to lie to the dying man. Spencer knew Crates' chances at survival were astronomical at best. Still he couldn't bring himself to tell him the blunt truth, that he was most likely going to die here.

"W-we… I-I'll find a way… I'm going to get you help." Spencer said panicked, as he began to fumble with his radio, only for Crates to place a hand on Spencer's arm.

"No...Im…" A violent cough, "...I'm gone…"

Spencer shook his head, unable to stop the tears that began to form in his eyes. Spencer had seen death, even caused it so many times he had lost count, thought himself desensitized to it. True he could shoot a man or woman and not flinch. But watching a man die in his arms, a man who had risked life and limb for him and someone who he had done the same for was much different. It was much more visceral. As such he couldn't bring himself to grips with the current situation. "N-No…" Spencer's voice wavered. "I-I can… I'll…"

Crates clenched with pain, gripping Spencer quite painfully as he coughed for a few moments before he spoke again, his voice was wet with liquid, most likely the blood that was flowing from his mouth. "Listen… in a few moments I'm going to…go into shock… at that point, I won't be waking back up…" Crates said as calmly as his current situation would allow. "L-Listen to me… when you get back to the Eden, I-I need you to call my grandma… sh-she's the only family I got left… Only one worth calling anyways… I need you to tell her I died a hero… that I died fighting for what I believed in…" Crates pleaded.

Spencer stood silent for a moment as Crates coughed and hacked a few more times before he managed to croak out, "Did you?"

A simple, "...Yeah." was all that Crates sighed out as his body tensed slightly before relaxing in Spencer's grip.

Spencer knew Crates was gone, but shook him anyways, before touching his helmet to his, sobbing silently to himself for a few moments. A minute passed and Spencer stood with determination, pocketing Crate's dogtags and placing a beacon at his corpse, he even placed his body as nicely as possible, laying on the floor with arms crossed over the chest. They may not have seen eye to eye all the time but Spencer respected Crates, he deserved that much.

'_I'm going to kill them…_' Spencer thought darkly as he went down the hallway, he doubted the pilot would have gone downstairs, Spencer would of heard them bounding down the stairs anyways. As he neared the other half of the hallway he kicked each door open, Sweeping the room from the doorway before moving on. Thunder struck as he neared the other two doors that completed the second story of the home. He kicked open the closest on his left, another bedroom, also empty.

That left only one room, and the corporal grinned wickedly, slamming the door open. Spencer stepped into the dark room and the first thing he noticed were the various art pieces, instruments and a small office tucked away into the corner of the room. The second thing he noticed were the lack of windows in the room. The third thing he noticed was the high ceiling of the room dominated by a large skylight, easily twenty feet from the floor, much too high to use a jumpkit to reach.

Spencer slowly worked his way around the room, like a predator, toying with his prey. Some gut feeling had told him his opponent was in the room, hiding. Spencer looked around the room, standing in the pale light of the skylight before, bellowing. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE!" He listened and gazed around the room for any indication of the Militia pilot. "HIDING IS JUST GOING TO MAKE IT OH SO MUCH WORSE!" More silence. He was starting to get angry now, he really didn't want to have to go and look for the person in the dark.

As his anger and frustration continued to mount, the heavens struck out again, another thunderstrike this one considerably closer than the others, the sound much louder. The intensity of the bolt of light caused the room to be completely illuminated for a split second as the light flooded in through the skylight. Spencer flinched slightly at the sudden change in atmosphere but otherwise kept his composure, however the room's other occupant could not as a scared gasp sounded out to his left, behind one of the art exhibits in the room. Spencer turned just in time, flashlight on to see a green uniform trying to sneak away to another hiding space.

Spencer smiled, faltered, then spoke grimly. "Don't...Move…" He said as he leveled the rifle to the center of the pilot's back.

Much to Spencer's surprise the pilot raised their hands. He expected more resistance. Also to his surprise he couldn't bring himself to outright shoot the person now that they had surrendered, despite what had happened moments ago, all the anger and rage he had fostered, were now nowhere to be found.

"Assault kit off and turn around, slowly…" Spencer said in a commanding tone. He watched as the pilot, who Spencer could tell was evidently female now that he had a chance to look at her, complied with his order. He watched as the pilot dropped the ammunition sash from her body, then the net covering that draped across her shoulders, then came the ammo belt and weapon holsters. Finally came her kneepads and helmet.

Spencer watched as she lingered in taking off her kneepads however, dropping his R-101C to catch and swing pendulously on it's sling. He narrowed his eyes as he stepped over to her in a flash, Hammond P2011 pressed to the back of her head. He placed his left hand on her upper back and growled out. "Touch that knife and this bullet touches your brain… got it?"

Spencer tensed when she didn't move at first, waiting a long moment before raising her hands to her head level with a defeated sigh, still bent over. Crouching down Spencer moved his sidearm to her side, plucking the long, ten-inch, serrated boot knife that was tucked into a hidden sheath. He held the balanced blade in his hand, hefting the weight and appreciating it's fine balance before tossing it to the side.

"Anymore hidden weapons?" Spencer asked, almost rhetorically.

"Go fuck yourself." She spat, back still to the IMC pilot.

Spencer frowned for a moment before his visage lightened again. Her response was to be expected. "Alright… well that's not going to happen." He replied, "Anyways…" he huffed. "Turn around, slowly." Spencer said keeping the flashlight attached to his weapon trained on her. She once again complied, turning slowly with her hands held above her head.

Spencer noticed the scowl she had, shooting daggers with killing intent from her eyes. The first thing that he noticed was her face, a soft, slightly angular feminine construct of pale skin, currently affixed in a harsh scowl. Beautiful by most standards no doubt. However it wasn't her face shape that he noticed first, but the extensive set of scars that ran up the right side of her otherwise smooth visage. A series of long tracks running from the very edges of her upper lip, across her cheek, over her eyebrow and ending half an inch after her natural hairline. Following the set of scars with his eyes he noticed that half her head was shaved, the right half to be precise. This caused her pale sandy yellow hair to give her a punk standoffish look. Spencer eventually tore his gaze away, glad he had his helmet to hide his lingering eyes. He then trailed his vision down to the rest of her body, quite...shapely... speaking modestly, and quite contradictory to the harsh attitude she presented, let alone her profession as a special forces soldier. Spencer continued to direct his gaze downwards, passing over wide, girlish hips and thick thighs before eventually coming to a rest at her booted feet then snapping his vision back up.

Clearing her throat she deepened her frown, something the young pilot thought impossible given the intensity of her expression and spoke again. "So you going to keep trying to blind me or are you going to keep ogling me." She growled out defiantly.

Spencer let out a nervous chuckle. '_So she noticed._' "R-right." Spencer recomposed himself. As he reevaluated the situation and its gravity he began to speak as another strike of thunder sounded off, earning a scared flinch from the female pilot. Spencer grinned and spoke. "Scared of thunder huh?" He joked, earning a piercing glare from the shapely woman.

"If you're going to interrogate me, might as well just shoot me now…" She sneered, "I don't know anything you would want to know, besides, even if I did I wouldn't tell you." She continued a bit proud of her defiance.

Spencer fired off a shot just between the space of her head and arms, bullet whizzing past her ear. Her reaction was as expected as she flinched and shied away from the sound. She took a moment to recompose herself and glare at the pilot. "Oh… really now…" he toyed. "Don't forget, I'm in command of this situation. Now step away from the gear and to…" Spencer's voice trailed off before he found a heavy grand piano near the middle of the room, just under the skylight, partially shrouded in darkness, the other half lit by the pale atmospheric light that was ambiently omnipresent. "..that piano." He said and watched, R-101C trained on the woman as she complied albeit grudgingly. "Good." Spencer cooed, "Was that so hard?" He continued. "Now, on your knees like a good little girl."

Spencer frowned as she whipped around quicker than he expected, face a visage of complete and utter rage. "_What did you call me?"_

Spencer flinched but quickly tried to assert dominance. "On your knees. Or the last thing your going to worry about if is if your funeral will be closed casket or not." He threatened, before adding a reluctant, "please." when she did not immediately comply.

Spencer walked over to her as she did as she was told, reaching with one hand into a grabsack, fumbling around for some heavy duty zip-ties. Finding what he was looking for, Spencer pulled out a long, thick plastic zip-tie, crouching down to his prisoner's level to tie her hands around the heavy piano that she was kneeling in front of. Warily he relinquished his hold on the weapon he clutched possessively in order to fasten his prisoner's hands to one of the legs of the piano. As he guided her hands into position he took the zip-tie leaning halfway over her body, awkwardly shifting his weight from the uncomfortable position. As he leaned ever closer, focusing on carefully getting the plastic tie around her wrists he felt a heavy blow to one of the soft, unarmored sections on his stomach.

A pained, forced gasp of oxygen leaving the young pilot echoed in the large room. As Spencer struggled to regain his footing and breath he felt the Militia Pilot effortlessly flip his stunned form, causing Spencer to flop onto his back. Shaking his head vigorously, he came to bear under a rain of blows, head snapping left and right as she fearlessly laid haymaker after haymaker into Spencer's armored head. Bellowing out a vicious roar of anger Spencer slugged the Amazonian woman in the ribs at the apex of one of her swings. This caught the demoness off guard as she didn't expect the IMC pilot to respond with such determination so quickly, causing her to give a sharp cry of pain.

Using her lapse in the physical onslaught she was raining down, Spencer answered with a swift uppercut from his right arm. The blow made an audible click of teeth clicking together as her jaw suddenly slammed shut. He had also managed to strike her off balance, a situation which he made the most of by throwing his weight whilst firing his jumpkit, giving him the strength to reverse their positions. Anger suffused his actions as he began to rain blow after blow to her head and face.

He continued to strike her even as she tried to fight back in vain, her hands often striking armor, thus deadening her blows. Spencer watched on with a malicious grin across his features as he returned every savage blow she laid unto him in kind. Watching as her expression went from surprise to defiant anger to pained defeat as the heavier man continued to deck the Militia captive. Soon Spencer began to falter as she spat out blood and spittle from a particularly brutal blow to her jaw, her expression flickering with pain and fear. Seeing the broken resolve of the woman under him his blows began to soften, slow, then cease.

Spencer sighed partially from the exertion on his body, also partly from the excess of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, but mostly out of resignation. He would defend himself, no doubt, but he was not about to beat an unarmed person to death. However while he felt resolute of his decision, some deeper, darker part of him wanted to kill the woman. '_She deserves every bit of that beating. Think of what she did to Crates, she is going to kill you when she gets the chance... Unless we never giver her one. Kill. Her._' His subconscious goaded him into action, leaving his cognitive functions to the prey of a dark, malicious side of him he tried to keep repressed. However his willpower held out keeping him from acting on his darker desires.

Spencer looked down to the defeated, bloodied form of the woman below him and sighed. She was angry but confusion and fear flickered in her eyes. Spencer was angry as well, but comparatively to his captive he was calm. The young pilot realized that if he let her she would most likely try to escape, or fight again. He decided to try and use words, instead of actions to defuse the situation. "Please... Let's try to make things easy... A little cooperation is all I'm asking for."He stated, his tone of voice only slightly hinting at his superior position in the situation.

When the Militia pilot made no attempt at protest the man sighed out a ragged breath in relief. He could handle the withering stare she gave him. Quickly Spencer moved to tie her hands, noticing how bloodied and bruised they were. A few awkward hand movements followed by the zip of plastic ties being tightened and Spencer was off. The woman's gear in hand he moved the confiscated items off to a bedroom, stashing her items sans ammo, which he kept for himself. He then returned to the room, turning the lights on as he stepped into the soon to be illuminated space.

Silent, the corporal stepped over to the Militia pilot. Quickly and quietly Spencer crouched down and gave her a look over, pressing into her ribs where he struck her. She made a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft, almost whimpered groan of pain. He removed the pressure and made a mental note before pulling out the small emergency medical kit from the small kit on his back. Removing a small canister of pale, foul smelling viscous fluid, he flipped out a small injection needle before sticking the Militia captive in the space between one of her ribs. Another gasp of pain and a glare.

Spencer spoke softly, focusing on his impromptu medical work, "Relax, your ribs are most likely fractured. This gel is just going to fill the gaps and make the healing faster." He explained plainly. He looked up to see the woman staring at him intently, watching every movement of his hands. He emptied about a fourth of the canister, satisfied that it would be sufficient for the wounds she had obtained. Pocketing the canister he pulled out his combat knife, the twelve inch blade had a razor-sharp edge complete with a gut hook near the hilt of the blade, he would be using the blade momentarily. She tensed at the weapon being pulled, so Spencer spoke again. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you." Gingerly he wedged the blade in between her bound hands, before pulling up quickly, snapping the ties that bound her.

Deftly he sheathed the knife and took hold of her wrist. Spencer turned her wrist about, surveying her wounded, bloodied and bruised hands. With one hand still holding her wrist he dove back into his medical kit pulling up some cottonswabs. He glanced to her for a split-second before he began to dab up the blood from her hands. As Spencer immersed himself in his task it grew akwardly silent, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

Clearing his throat he spoke to break the palpable silence. "So...uh... Those B3's standard issue?"

He received a huff of irritation before a crass, "What?" came back.

"I mean, I see a lot of you Militia using them. Was just curious. Don't get very many opportunities like this one." He responded, unfazed by her response, glancing up to her to see her reaction.

She looked, suprised or confused it was kind of hard to tell, unfamiliar with the subtlety of her facial expressions. "What? No. I mean kind of. We don't have access to the resources the IMC has. We make do with what we got. This outfit just happens to have a lot of B3s lying around."

Spencer nodded in affirmation, "Ah, makes sense." Satisfied with his work on her left hand he switched to the right hand, getting fresh supplies and repeating the pprocess. "So where do you guys get your Titans? You guys probably don't have factories like we do."

She paused, looking at him with confusion, he was sure of it now. "I don't understand you." Spencer frowned as he began to rephrase his question when she spoke again. "Why, are you doing this?"

Now it was Spencer's turn to be confused. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you helping me? We were just trying to kill each other. And now you're patching me up as if nothing happened." She said with mounting speed.

"Well... I'd prefer you to be comfortable while in my care. And besides. I'm a b—"

"Is this just a game to you?! None of this is real if it doesn't affect you?" She lashed out, causing Spencer to pause in his actions. "I fucking knew it! All of you IMC fucks are just a bunch of fucking robots."

"And you Militia are just a bunch of monsters." Spencer joked back. "See, I can make jokes too."

She growled before speaking low. "So this really is a game to you then... You kill and ruin lives and shrug it off like it's nothing. Did that other pilot's death even phase you?"

"It devastated me..." Spencer sighed. "Do you know what it is like to have someone die in your arms?" Spencer spoke, voice trembling with barely contained anger. "When Crates died... I wanted nothing more than to make you suffer. To give you a slow death... But now, honestly I just want today to be over. I've seen enough death for one day."

She looked on silently, Spencer couldn't tell if she was happy with his answer, but he didn't really give a damn at this point. He wasn't going to give her a different answer. Angered now he quickly finished cleaning her hands and wrapping them tightly in gauze to soak up any further bleeding.

"Okay, fine. But why are you helping me?" She finally sighed out after her prolonged silence.

"Is it so wrong to treat someone with humanity?" Spencer huffed out. "I mean, if you really want me to I could just shoot you now."

She held up her now bandaged hands with a small grin. "No, no. No need for that. Besides, I was just curious s'all."

"Remember, curiosity killed the cat." He stated bluntly, stowing his equipment once more. "Stay here, I'll be back." Spencer said as he stood to leave, hefting the weight of his rifle in his hands.

"Wait a minute. You're going to leave me untied?" She said to Spencer's back, confused.

"Yeah, and if you aren't in here when I get back I'm going to shoot you when I find you." Spencer said grimly, pausing in the doorway. Thinking about Crates had flared up his anger again. He didn't wait for her response as he left the room, slamming the door shut. He found a closet in one of the side rooms in the downstairs hallway, grabbing one of the extra blankets that were stored there. He was beginning to second guess his choice to treat her better, she was obviously testing his limits but still, he was moments away from ending her.

His trip back to the art room was silent and void of thought, his body on autopilot. It wasn't until he returned to the door did he snap out of his mindless reverie. Another series of deafening booms, more lightning. The storm definitely wasn't letting up. He stepped into the room, to find her sitting on the bench of the piano, currently hunched over, slowly relaxing and turning to face Spencer.

"Here." He said bluntly, tossing the large comforter to her. She managed to sloppily catch it as the large cover unfolded itself mid flight.

"You must really trust me to just leave me here. How did you know I wouldn't run away?" She asked watching as he crossed the room to stand over her, causing her to crane her head up.

"You're scared of lightning. You have no gear. Visibility is almost zero and the temperature outside is low. You would die before finding more shelter or even managing to get back to Militia forces." He stated factually, watching as she nodded in understanding.

"Just what I expect from a robot…" she muttered with a hidden half grin.

"Right…" Spencer said.

"Anyways, got a name?" She asked. "I mean, unless you prefer for me to call you robot." She joked, slowly flexing her gauze bound hands.

"I do. But you will address me as S—" He started.

"Oh, hell no. Your name or nothing at all." She interrupted, suddenly angry.

Sighing, the corporal spoke again. "You will address me as my last name, 'Spencer'."

"T...That's not a last name…" She responded.

"Yes it is. It's mine." Spencer defended, his patients was running thin. "Anyways, you have a name? I'm sure I could come up with one… but if you have something you preferred to be called, better tell me now."

She nodded. "Alright, that's fair… people call me a lot of things, but you can call me what everyone else does. It's my callsign, nickname, title, et cetera. It's what I'm most comfortable with so just call me that." She said offhandedly.

"And that would be?" Spencer said fishing for an answer.

"Bishop."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: This chapter was actually done for awhile, I just wasn't happy with the character interactions in this chapter. I still want to make changes but at this rate the chapter will never be posted, so here it is.**

October 12, 21:56 Hours

Spencer went wide eyed, 'Bishop' he had heard the name before. She was the pilot of that Ogre that shocked him. He thought her voice was familiar but he couldn't place why. But now, now he could. Spencer grinned madly, this revelation placed so many opportunities at his feet.

"Bishop huh?…" He mused. "I've heard the name before." Spencer admitted.

"Oh? People call my name out in terror when they see me coming?" She joked.

"No, you shocked me when I blew up your Ogre." Spencer said, grinning. "Managed to intercept your COMMs after that. Hurt like a bitch by the way." He laughed.

"Yeah, we— WAIT THAT WAS YOU?!" She yelled, frowning intensely, standing up quickly. She began to stomp over to the man when another strike of lightning caused her to flinch and lose her passionate determination. She shrunk in fear before shooting him an angry glare.

Spencer laughed at the scene, causing Bishop to shoot an embarrassed frown at the man. "Well… better watch your shit out there. I still owe you for that one." Bishop sulked.

"Assuming I let you live through the night. I'm still mad at you for what you did." Spencer said deadpan, staying silent a short moment before letting out a little chuckle.

Bishop regarded Spencer, trying to read his body language for some hint to his motive, but resigned herself to a non-committal shrug before adding, "You're still mad at me?"

"Yes." Spencer sighed, "I understand that you only did what you had to, were the roles reversed I would of done the same thing... But when you fight alongside someone for so long you start to get…" Spencer trailed off. He didn't want to say attached, far from it. Spencer didn't so much _hate_ Crates, granted, but he strongly disliked the man. "His loss was sudden, and I was there for it. I was so angry. I was ready to shoot you, but when I caught you, I wanted you to suffer, struggle for life as he did... But when it came down to it, you showed humanity, fear, emotion. I couldn't with a clear conscience do that to another human being. So while I do pardon you for your actions, I can't promise you anything outside a few moments… understand?" The corporal looked to her, she stared back a long minute before Spencer looked away, satisfied with her lack of an outwardly negative reaction. He found that the more cooperative she was the more anger drained from his system. While he found it strange the crass woman had that effect on him, he was glad. A dead prisoner was of no use to anyone.

Bishop frowned, paused a moment, then spoke again. "I'm sorry for your loss. But like you said, it was me or him." She said dismissively. "And I prefer myself to any of you IMC lapdogs." She was beginning to lapse back into her usual smug, slightly standoffish mood.

There was a long silence afterwards, the only sounds the heavy pitter-patter of the torrential downpour on the structure. The awkward silence had built up quite considerably to almost torturous levels for both parties involved before Bishop said something.

"S-sooooo... Just how much did you manage to hear of that... Conversation." Bishop asked cautiously, almost afraid of the upcoming response.

"Hmmm..." Spencer mused out loud in thought before adding a nonchalant, "All of it. I think? Most of it, anyways." He said a smile cracking into his voice.

"So did you even the part about my..." She trailed off looking at the man with a gaze that could bore through metal, trying to gauge the response of her captor sitting next to her.

Spencer laughed at her apprehensiveness, "Yes, even the part about your 'non-existent', I think they put it, sex-life." Sometimes he found it weird that he could remember some of the strangest things that had almost no meaning to him. He however had no trouble with regurgitating the information that he had strangely held on to, a smile evident in his voice.

She fumed at him with piercing eyes and seemed like she would hold her tongue, before she exploded and blurted out a response in haste. "W-Well that's not true! I-I have tons of sex!" She stammered angrily before pausing and suddenly hiding her quickly reddening face.

The man laughed again, "Oh, do you now?" he managed to get out after a series of deep breaths. It was a good moment before Spencer culled his fit of laughter. "Well, what can I say? Not much to expect from you Militia."

"It's not like the IMC are any better..." She muttered out embarrassedly, hands still covering her face and muffling her voice.

Spencer simply nodded and made a sarcastic "Uh-huh".

"At least we don't go around having 'tons of sex'." Spencer laughed.

"Yeah, you robots probably don't _ever_ get any." Bishop retorted. "Even if you did, you probably wouldn't even enjoy it unless ordered too." Crass confidence behind her words as she started to get back into her usual attitude.

The humor had died down in the corporal by the time he responded. "We aren't robots you know." He stated, turning his head left to look at her.

"Yes you are. You IMC bunch follow orders without question. That is pretty damn robotic to me." Bishop argued.

"I wouldn't say without question..." The pilot mused, reminiscing on the multiple occasions he had refused to follow orders. "Besides, that's better than letting a bunch of self-righteous, self-proclaimed criminals parading around as heroes go to town." Spencer responded with a scant level of venom in his voice.

"Oh, and the IMC are any better? Forcing people to change their lives and allowing citizens to be killed all in the name of higher profit margins?!" Bishop fumed, an intense frown upon her pretty face.

"I can't lie about the IMC being profit driven, but at least the IMC tries to act civilized, gives people a choice. Lets them decide what they want, even if their options are limited... They try." Spencer shot back. "The IMC tries to make things as voluntary as efficiently possible."

"See?! Efficient? Real people don't use words like that." Bishop said with excited anger before barreling on to her next train of thought. "And voluntary? Really? That's funny. Because, when did 'pack your shit or our robots will pack it for you' become voluntary?" She asked in rhetoric sarcasm.

"The IMC would rather let the crazy civilians with no sense of self preservation stay. It would cost too much money to comfortably, not to mention safely transport a bunch of uncooperative civilians. Even then, we aren't the ones to go into a city, tell them 'join or die', then shoot up the place anyways. Not to mention the rape, theft, black market, extortion... The list goes on, that you monsters expose your 'liberated' cities to." Spencer found the volume of his voice also begin to rise.

Bishop stayed silent for a moment, there was no denying what the IMC pilot had accused the Militia of, but the same could be said for the IMC. "And the IMC don't practice the same things?" She smirked when the pilot shrugged.

"Can't say that everyone in IMC is a clean slate. But I do know that the IMC cares about its public image…" Spencer sighed. "All I know that if someone gets caught breaking the law outside of a fighting situation or mistreats a prisoner of war there are severe punishments to be incurred. Not to mention forfeiture of payment." He enlightened, only earning yet another glare.

"Exactly, we're both monsters here so don't act like the IMC is any better." Bishop spat. "The only difference is that we have something we're striving for. A better frontier, while the IMC is only worried about their profit margin." Bishop ground out. "That's what you're here for right? _Money_?"

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck and grinned sheepishly to the benefit of no one, he was still wearing his helmet after all. "Actually, I wanted to see the colonies. Exploration, adventure all that stuff." He said wistfully. "The IMC offered to give me a tour of the outer rim and beyond, was right up my alley, so I took it." He continued.

Bishop scoffed before retorting, "Your telling me you just wanted to come out here? Right, I'm pretty sure it was about the money. Wasn't it?" She chastised him.

Spencer clenched a fist, relaxed his grip then continued speaking. "I'm not saying the money wasn't part of it… they _were _paying me well…"

"To do what? Shoot civilians, relocate people against their will?" She continued to goad him.

"No, actually I started out in a security infantry unit." the corporal said. "We mostly patrolled the areas around several IMC points of interest." Spencer admitted.

"Wait wait wait. You're telling me you used to be a grunt? One of the expendable masses?" Bishop almost laughed.

"Yes, but just because I am a pilot now doesn't mean I'm not expendable." Spencer said coldly, angry at her or the IMC perhaps, he couldn't tell. Maybe it was the Militia's blatant disregard of human life in the name of favoritism, or perhaps the IMC's tendencies to ignore the value of human life altogether, seeing their soldiers more as assets than people. Either topic made him angry when he thought about it. But then again, don't bite the hand that feeds.

"See that's all wrong. The Militia regards their pilots as a precious resource." She chirped in proudly.

"Is that why the Militia leave their grunts behind? Forsake them for dead because Pilots come first? Damn everyone else! As long as we get our pilots out?!" Spencer spoke, volume slowly rising until he was almost yelling. He was tired of her making fun, dismissing the atrocities of this damn war, all for a game of one-ups.

"Dont bullshit me! You know just as well as I do that the IMC leave infantry behind! Stop acting like the IMC is a damn saint!" She spat back coarsely.

"At least we try to extract our infantry. At least we care about our people..." Spencer muttered dejectedly, he was tired of arguing, after the events of today he was just ready for today to end.

"'Care about our people'?" Bishop muttered, head hung low. "Then what about my family?" She uttered a barely audible whisper.

"What?" Spencer sighed.

"WHAT ABOUT MY DAMN FAMILY, HUH?!" She all but screamed out, tears streaming from her eyes, an expression of pure hatred on her marred feminine features. She took several deep breaths, wiping angrily at the tears on her face before speaking again. "My family worked for the IMC back on Verrin. My dad was a supervisor for a IMC owned production facility and my mom was off on Earth, working her job as Fleet Captain on an IMC cruiser…" She spoke her voice and body trembling from barely contained emotions. "Two years ago…" Bishop paused, " ...Two years ago... the Militia sacked our city. I had gone to visit my father at his job when the attack had started. I watched as the IMC security forces came and held off the Militia. But by the time Titans were introduced to the battle the IMC had decided that they should cut their losses." She spat venomously. She looked to Spencer, somehow locking eyes with him through his backlit visor. "Our transport got hit with some kind of rocket. I lost my father and got this scar across my face in return." she paused and looked away pointedly.

Spencer began to speak when she returned her stare and spoke again. "I had screamed for help, that I was trapped and my father was dying to every IMC soldier and personnel that ran past our mangled wreck... Not one person stopped to help us. The IMC, the company my parents had given their lives to… they didn't do a damn thing to help us." She spoke shakily, before gaining conviction. "You know who did help? The Militia. They pulled me out of the wreckage, gave me medical attention, food and a place to say. They had asked me if I wanted to join. If I wanted to help people. I said yes. How could I not? The IMC didn't care… the Militia did, I wanted to make a difference, so nobody has to go through that ever again."

The man wanted to speak up, and tell her she was naive, that the Militia had caused her to suffer in the first place. He wanted to point out all the lives the Militia had ruined, or ended, all for their cause. How many innocents they had involved in their petty little charade of being the savior of the frontier. He couldn't bring himself to do so however, she had shared something very personal, to chop her down would certainly make the situation worse. However, he could just speak his mind and shoot her if need be afterwards. In the end though, he simply resigned himself to a sigh, and stood up to stretch his legs.

He looked to her, shook his head at her muddied sense of righteousness and paced about for a moment before a noise distracted him.

"Spencer, this is Wardd, we have a signal booster up over here. Give me a sitrep. How are things?" The man's commanding officer spoke over the COMMS. "Where's Crates? I'm not picking up his radio signal. Something happen?"

A lump formed in Spencer's throat as Wardd mentioned Crates. Spencer had forgotten about him in the heat of his quite... Animated conversation with his captive. Also unfortunate for Spencer his radio transmission was broadcast over his external speakers. He stuttered, paused, then spoke. "C-Cr...Crates is… gone. He's dead." Spencer transmitted over the radio, looking at the pilot who had done his ally in. "An enemy pilot got the drop on us." Spencer spoke grimly.

"Shit." Wardd cursed under his breath before talking again. "Are you okay? Should I send someone over?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Spencer sighed shakily, pent up emotions that he had forgotten about coming back to flood his mind. "The pilot got away though…" He lied, Bishop's eyes went wide when he finished speaking, wondering why the man was lying to his squad commander. He let out another deep sigh. "Don't send anyone over, the storm is still in full force. I'll try to stay safe in case the pilot is still within the area. They won't get the drop on me twice."

Wardd sighed, said something to someone in the background then spoke again. "Dammit… alright, stay safe. We'll meet you at 0800…" Wardd said with a hint of regret in his tone. "Spencer…" Wardd sighed again, almost sounding disappointed. "...don't do anything stupid. I don't need to lose two good men tonight."

Spencer went wide eyed. His heart rate began to skyrocket as his mind began to race. '_Shit. Does he know I'm lying? Gotta get it together._' He panicked, lying to a superior officer often had undesirable consequences. The man paused, recomposed his thoughts then spoke. "...Yes sir."

Bishop looked to the man as his shoulders sagged, letting out a ragged sigh. Confusion upon her face, she flinched from the sound of thunder nearby, the sudden movement caused the IMC pilot to turn and regard her. She used this situation to sate her piqued interest. "What was that about?" She prodded trying to get some answers to the man's strange behavior.

"What? I lied. You act like you haven't done that before." Spencer said casually.

"Nuh-uh... Stop trying to dodge the bullet. You know what I mean." She crossed her arms.

He found it funny that she thought she had a say in the matter but decided to humor her. "Well... I figured you didn't want to stay a prisoner of war. So I lied. If I told him I had managed to capture you, he would of definitely sent someone over to collect you."

"But why? Won't you get in trouble if you get caught?"

"Then, I won't get caught." He stated proudly, grinning to himself.

Smiling softly she shook her head and chuckled. "You're something else..."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Spencer said happily, earning another soft chuckle from the woman.

"But what I don't get is _why_?" Bishop said a serious edge returning to her voice. "We're enemies. Hell... we were just trying to kill each other a few minutes ago. So why?"

Spencer coughed awkwardly, cleared his throat then spoke. "Well… like I said. I'm tired of this. I've seen my fair share of death today. I think it would be a good time to take a break. You know?" He said lamely.

Bishop raised an eyebrow, she wasn't buying it. "Really? You just going to start lying to everyone now?" She smiled at the end, a short fleeting thing, but beautiful none the less.

"Fiiiiine." Spencer mock whined. "I was taught you should always treat others with the same respect you wish to receive." Spencer admitted sheepishly.

"That's stupid. As a fellow soldier, I can't believe you just said that. You must either be a real charmer or incredibly lucky, maybe both. Because you have no sense of self preservation." She said disappointedly, shaking her head with a hint of a grin on her face.

"I was also taught an eye for an eye. When I can be civilized I try to be. But the battlefield... is far from civilized. Can hardly call a place civilized when you have to beat someone's skull to a pulp just so they don't do the same to you." Spencer said seriously. "Remember, I'm a pilot, a Special Operations Group member, I could kill you just as easily as I could greet you. But even then, I'd prefer we talk it out anyways." He grunted. "This 'war' or whatever is petty and stupid." Spencer whined out, childlike crossing his arms for added emphasis.

"...Okay." Bishop said, just before another flash of light and boom of lightning caused her to flinch. Cursing under her breath Bishop slowly straightened herself to glare at the man she was to call "Spencer". She could see the soft, quickened rise and fall of his shoulders as he stifled back a laugh, she could feel him smiling behind that helmet. She shot a quick glare to the man which only caused the situation to worsen as he broke out into full laughter. Her face slightly redenned from embarrassment. Flustered she spoke to him. "W-What's so funny?!"

"I just think it's weird that a grown woman, who has gone through war is scared of lightning." He smiled.

"Hey, we are all scared of something!" Bishop responded with a glare. Spencer shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head, an approximation of 'I guess'. "Besides," Bishop added, sitting back down with her chin in her knees. "Whenever there was a thunderstorm my dad was always there to comfort me." She all but whispered, hugging her curled legs closer to herself.

Spencer watched as she tightened further on herself as another strike hit the ground nearby. Her eyes screwed shut as the thunderous report echoed in the air just outside the building. Spencer took the moment to crouch down and place an arm around her shoulder. He could feel her tense at the contact before relaxing, tension seeming to bleed from her before she locked back up.

Bishop's eyes shot open as she turned her head to look at Spencer, a angry glare on her features. Making a slow, calculated movement she removed the corporal's hand from her shoulder. "Don't do that." Bishop spoke plainly and forcefully, glaring daggers at the man.

Spencer stared at the woman for a moment and shrugged. "Just trying to be comforting."

"You know what?" Bishop grunted. When the IMC pilot looked at her she continued. "You are a horrible captor, you know that?" Another shrug, she frowned and growled, "You're also very noncommittal.

Spencer grinned to himself and shrugged again, laughing when Bishop's frown deepened. "Come on, get up." Spencer said grabbing her by the arm and forcibly yanking her up, causing the woman to stand quickly lest she dislocate her arm. She made a pained surprised noise but complied none the less. "I'm getting hungry, pretty sure you are too." Spencer said as he pushed the woman in front of him, practically shoving her out of the room, rifle barrel in the small of her back.

"O-ow. Hey, what the hell?!" She tried to protest to receive a sharp prod in the spine and a forceful shove on her back, causing her to lurch forward. She tried to turn to face the man but he placed a very firm grip on her shoulder physically preventing her from turning in his grasp. "That hurts, asshole."

"Good. You don't want me to be nice to you so I'm going to be mean. Now, get downstairs and into the kitchen. Resist if you want, either way that's where we're going." Spencer spoke plainly, aggressive authority lacing his words. The repressed anger he held seeking for an outlet, an escape, vengeance. He took a mental pause, his body operating on autopilot to escort the woman to the kitchen as his mind tried to shove his anger to a deeper recess of his mind.

He was so caught up in thought that he didn't realize that they had arrived at their destination until she had spoke up. "Hey, asshole, we're in the Kitchen, now what?" She complained with angry sarcasm. "If you would stop fantasizing about me for a minute I would like to get this over with."

Spencer brushed past the woman, coldly adding, "I'm not." as he made his way to one of the many, modern designed wooden cabinets. He began angrily pulling drawers and pantries open, looking for food that didn't have to be prepared. This angry, frustrated behavior continued on for several minutes. Bishop standing in silence as Spencer practically tore apart the kitchen.

"Bottling your anger isn't good for your health you know." Bishop added to break the growing verbal silence between the two.

Spencer paused and slowly turned to look over his shoulder at the woman, his blue tinged glowing faceplate visible just past his shoulder. "And releasing my anger isn't good for _your_ health." He responded, before turning his attention back to the kitchen. Pulling a few more drawers open he found enough to make a sandwich, granted they had meat or some other staple food in the fridge to go with the bread and condiments he had eventually stumbled across.

Finding meat in the fridge, pastrami, lots of it, he tossed one of the many sealed packages on the island counter in the kitchen where Bishop had decided to take a seat. "Make yourself a sandwich." He ordered turning to the woman.

She gave him a cross look but did as she was told, albeit slowly. Spencer ran his hand down the front of his helmet and made a sound of a sigh and a groan as he did so. Refraining himself from speaking on her annoying behavior he busied himself with his own rations. More familiar with his MREs than anything in the kitchen. Also while he did want a sandwich he would rather like to appear superior to the woman in the kitchen with him. He had more to eat than her anyways.

He read the contents of the brown package in his gloved hands. "Pork Rib" Shrugging, he tore open the package and set to work preparing his food. It wasn't the best but it sure as hell beat a sandwich, as it was a full meal rather than an singular item.

Meanwhile, Bishop busied herself with her own food. She took a moment and paused in her consumption and looked at the man who seemed to be performing science in a bag as he prepared his MRE, scowled then turned her attention back to her sandwich. Taking a few more bites she looked back up to see the man release the seals that ringed his neck at the base of the helmet. Once the seal at the junction of his neck and helmet was broken he gave the protective garb a slight twist, the faceplate flickering once, then twice as the helmet powered down and removed the hefty item from his head.

She watched with interest as he removed his gloves as well, scratched his stubbly buzzcut hair. Moving his helmet back further on the counter so it wouldn't fall off, he turned his attention to his MRE, bringing a fork of food to his mouth. Noticing her staring he gave a confident, friendly-but-knowing smirk and returned to his food when he earned a slight blush from the woman who pointedly returned to her own food.

She took a moment to eat her food scarfing down the last of her sandwich before she looked back to the man who was preoccupied with his own sustenance. She had no idea of what the person had looked like, just that they were male, that much was obvious, the voice and body structure gave it away. She was angered by her earlier response, why was she blushing? True he wasn't ugly, far from it. He was no super model or other form of perfected, sexualy charged image of a man but there was no denying the masculinity of his jawline, or the way his stubbly short beard faded into his similarly short hair. She continued to look on, mostly because there was nothing else to preoccupy herself with until the man slowed his eating, frowned and turned his eyes up to gaze into hers, head tilting slightly to accommodate the motion. He held her gaze with those damn brown eyes, before he spoke.

"You just going to stare at me while I eat?" Spencer asked, slightly annoyed, mostly amused. She looked at him as if he was some strange being, as if he was the first man she had seen in a long, long time. He smirked at that before returning to his food, glancing up every once in awhile, still awaiting a response.

Bishop seem to pick up on the visual queue and awkwardly cleared her throat before speaking. "Well... there isn't anything else for me to do, but wait for you to finish." She spoke, his voice was… nice. It was masculine, deep but not overly so and warm, friendly. It was different from the voice over the helmet's external speakers, not as metallic or deep, it was something she would expect to hear from a parental figure, warm and secure but could turn harsh and angry in a moment's notice.

"Well you could always clean up the kitchen, if you're looking for something to do… I mean not that I don't mind you staring, it's just a little off-putting." Spencer explained. "You keep doing this little frown thing, where your eyebrows tense up for a second. Having someone glare at you while you eat is a good way to kill someone's appetite" He went on between mouthfuls of food, almost finished with his MRE. "See!" He exclaimed food still in his mouth, he swallowed before continuing. "You just did it!.. Anyways. You could always clean up if you want something to do."

"Why would I clean up _your_ mess?" She glared, crossing her arms under her considerable bust. "If I recall correctly, you're the one who tore the kitchen apart like a madman.

"I was mad, man." Spencer joked before continuing seriously. "Besides, the food was for you. So therefor the mess is for you." His logic was sound.

She sighed, glared at the man for good measure, watching his grin slide into a terse, minute frown, before she got to work on the task she was offered. While she despised being taken advantage of, and she sure as hell wasn't anyone's maid she did find comfort in having something, anything to do.

Moments later the kitchen was...straighter, she hadn't really tried too hard to clean the kitchen, it was presentable, but she wouldn't call it clean. Bishop also found the man, Spencer, had finished eating, cleaning away his comparatively tiny mess, before he reapplied his armored gloves and pulled his helmet back onto his head, however he didn't secure the seal, opting to have the visor to depolarize, becoming transparent with a faint hint of blue tint.

Spencer checked his wristwatch, it was almost midnight, he pushed the woman up the stairs again, allowed her to gather the covers and other sleeping items he had handed her and told her to get comfortable. After waiting until she slept he barricaded her inside of the art gallery before he went to sleep himself, finding a bed in one of the spare rooms and flopping down. Sleeping in his gear wasn't the most comfortable thing but he much rather be protected in case his impromptu prisoner decided to break out of her barricaded room somehow and do him in. He set an alarm for 0600 and swiftly dozed off.

His short time he spent dreaming was marred with images of Crates, that moment replaying in his head over and over, haunting him. He had woken himself up many times during the night to interrupt the nightmares only for them to continue. Eventually a shrill electric buzzing emanated from his wristwatch. Grumbling he fumbled with the offending object before he managed to kill the alarm.

Standing, he checked his gear, then checked where he had stashed the Militia pilot's gear. As he walked the silent upper hallway, the first thing he noticed was the blood stain where Crates had laid earlier, the wood floor and plaster wall forever stained. He also noticed the pale blueish gray light that bled through the windows and turned his attention to outside, a beautifully maintained and manicured backyard was currently flooded with excess water, which still fell from the sky, albeit much much lighter than before, effectively a drizzle. Spencer grumbled to himself, but was glad. Sure, he had preferred, hoped even that it would stop raining, but this was much better than the alternative.

Reaching the closet where her gear was stashed he checked all the pockets of her items, removing any and all ammunition and ordnance before deeming it safe to return to her. He checked his watch, 0626. Removing the numerous, heavy items from the door to the gallery he opened the door quietly, rifle ready, while he doubted she would try something at this point he had to be prepared for anything.

As he entered the room he found her curled up in a ball under the covers he had provided her. He nudged her with his foot, waking her up with a startle. "Sleep well?" He asked, his voice reverberating slightly from the external speakers in his helmet.

She turned to regard him drowsily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes but somehow alert.

Spencer looked at her, noticed she lacked her jacket and looked to where she slept, noticing it balled up in a makeshift pillow. He then looked to her, topless save a sports bra that constrained her chest, the visible valley of her chest smattered with freckles. Spencer coughed.

Bishop noticed the angle of his head and grinned. "Before you ask, yes I slept on my jacket, and yes this constrain these puppies, and yes they are bigger than this. And before you ask _that_, almost E." She said with confidence, taking pleasure in the nervous, fumbling as he struggled to straightened her gear out, and hand it to her. His attention was torn between sorting her equipment out and watching her slowly redress. That tease.

But now was her turn to be surprised. She looked to the proffered items, then to the man, a suspicious, confused look in her eyes. "Why are you giving these back?"

"I figured you didn't care too much for being a prisoner of war, so I'm letting you off the hook." Spencer explained as she got her gear back on. As she slipped her gear on, covering her figure and giving her protection to shrapnel and small arms fire she looked to the man again, still unsure if she could trust the man.

As Bishop received her B3 she quickly turned to the man, weapon pointed at him. She watched in defeat as the chambers cycled and clicked. The weapon was unloaded, of course it was. She had learned that the man may be generous, but he wasn't stupid.

"Thought you might try that, so I took your ammunition, all of it. Thanks for that. I'll make sure to put it to good use." Spencer patted his now stuffed ammunition pouches

Bishop sagged her shoulders, looked to the ground and grumbled in defeat. "...Fine, what are you giving me this stuff for?"

"You're free to go. I would stay away from the south-east areas, but my squad should be here at 0800, I highly suggest you dont be here for that." Spencer urged, while the woman was his enemy, and did try to kill him, on several occasions, he would rather not see her killed by his squad, or worse be ordered to kill her himself. There was also that lying incident with his commanding officer which he didn't want to be found out about.

She paused, looked to the man and spoke. "You… You're different… thanks for that." She said softly.

"For what?" He asked confused.

"Showing me that the IMC isn't a bunch of robots." She said as she began to climb out a window in the upstairs hallway. "Now I know there are at least a few oddballs like you thrown in the mix." She joked as she maneuvered more of her body out the window.

Spencer frowned, "Hey!..." he said in mock offense. "Oh, and Bishop?" Spencer. Said placing a hand on her shoulder. "If we meet again, you may not get so lucky next time." He warned.

"Speak for yourself, you could use some work." Bishop uttered.

"And if you put any of my friends in danger I won't hesitate to end you." Spencer left off from his earlier words.

"What?" Bishop chuckled, "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Nope. It's a fucking promise." The corporal ominously answered, tightening his grip on her shoulder.

Bishop scoffed then frowned, shrugged herself free of his grip and fell out the window. Landing on her feet she jogged halfway across the backyard. She turned to see Spencer watching from the second story of the estate-like home. Still frowning she flipped him off before moving to the other end of the yard, firing her jumpkit to propel her over the tall wooden fence that enclosed the flooded space.

Spencer sighed in frustration as she left, grumbling to himself as he left through the front door, walking to his Atlas he had parked outside the house. It was a short walk, across the wide, winding driveway, over a small retaining wall and down a small muddy slope to a field where a charred white tower of metal stood in the epicenter of a black spot several meters across. For the first time in a long time he was glad he wasn't in his Titan.

Sloshing through the marsh of a field he tried to initiate a wireless uplink and a remote start of his Titan. He received no response other than a diagnostics message scrolling across the bottom left corner of his HUD.

[TC-AAS]/: ALERT BOOT SEQUENCE "AutoOS_ " HAS FAILED TO INITIATE

/: ALERT CRITICAL SYSTEMS ARE NOT RESPONDING

/: ATTENTION ATTEMPTING BYPASS "SysCheck" ...

/: ...Working...

/: ...Working...

/: ...Failed.

/: TERMINATING SEQUENCE SS-3C

/: INITIALIZING "Diag_ "

/: INITIALIZATION SUCCESSFUL

[TC-DBD]/: ATTENTION RUNNING SYSTEMS CHECK

/: ...Working...

/: ...Complete!

/: ATTENTION ONBOARD MEMORY SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN DAMAGED! AN ENGINEER HAS BEEN NOTIFIED

/: CAUTION ATTEMPTING TO OPERATE TITAN IN THIS STATE MAY RESULT IN DEATH

Spencer threw his hands up in barely controlled anger, yelling in silence. Kicking the muddy ground he stomped over to his Titan and began to climb the machine. Hoisting himself up and onto the leg his hand recoiled from the still warm surface. Steeling himself he climbed up to the cockpit, removing a small metal hatch and pulling a bright yellow handle.

He moved off to the side when the cockpit unfolded as the hydraulic release activated. Peering inside he saw the charred internal space of the cockpit and let out a low whistle. "Damn... Glad I decided to get out..." he mused to himself. Climbing inside he looked behind the headrest of the pilot seat, finding a panel that held a few access ports to the Titan's core systems. He tried the handle only to find the door wouldn't open.

Quickly looking over his shoulder to look for any threats he got to work with his knife, wedging it into the rubber seal that most likely melted, binding the metal together. After a few minutes of stabbing and wiggling he managed to pry open the port. Spencer frowned, and sighed out a frustrated, "God dammit..." He took one last look at the charred remains of the various access ports and drive bays before turning around and hopping out of his Titan, firing his jumpkit before he landed to soften the impact. He did not wish to get stuck like last night.

Successfully preventing himself from getting stuck he made a triumphant noise the peered up to the cloudy sky. He looked to his south east, where Wardd and the others should of been. He then took the moment to radio his commanding officer.

"Omega 1-1 this Omega 5-1." Spencer broadcasted over his squad's channel.

"Omega 5-1 this is Omega 1-1, go ahead." Wardd responded.

"Omega 1-1 this is Omega 5-1, I am sweeping the area for hostiles then returning to the Rendezvous point. Out." He said as he began to walk the area, pointedly avoiding the larger puddles of water.

"Hard copy, 5-1. Be advised, friendlies are approaching from your south east. Out." Wardd responded before the radio snapped off.

Spencer made note of Wardd's transmission before half heartedly returning to his patrol. There was still fog, while not as thick as before it was still significant. He continued to amble through the field before he slowed to a stop, looked as his muddied boots and sighed deeply. '_There is too much fucking mud… God dammit it's everywhere. On my boots, __**in**__ my boots, on my legs._' He thought as he said, "Yeah… fuck this shit. I'm going back to the house." Spencer made the trek back to the house he had spent the night in, managing to scrape most of the mud off of his boots on the edge of the retaining wall of the driveway. Satisfied he was as clean as he was going to realistically get he made his way inside.

He managed to stow away the extra set of covers he had given Bishop and clean up his own room where he slept before he heard the front door open. He listened as several sets of boots made their way into the house. Spencer readied his R-101C as he crept out of the room and around the corner, peeking over the banister to the stairwell. Seeing no one he crept down the stairs like death, rifle leveled as he made his way into the downstairs foyer. Silently he approached the living room where the sound of several people were heard, quickly he whipped around the open doorframe into the room, rifle trained on the individuals who stood startled. Spencer let out a ragged breath as he stood and lowered his rifle.

"Christ!" Wardd said as he stowed his own weapon. "Dammit Spencer, you almost gave me a damn heart attack." He placed a hand on his chest for added emphasis

"And you all almost got gunned down." Spencer responded similarly. "How about a heads up next time.

"Seriously, I was this close to shooting you." Torrento piped up.

Spencer did a quick head count and noted two extras. "Who are they?" He said making a quick nod of the head to the two grunts in the room.

"Their forwards for Knight Squad. They're here to secure Crates' corpse... then head out to their objective when the rest of their squad shows up." Crates explained somberly.

Spencer nodded in understanding looking at the rest of his Squad then to Wardd.

"Anyways, we can't mourn our loss right now, Captain North wanted us to continue our assault as soon as the weather permitted. So everyone check your equipment. We're heading out." Ward commanded as he filed out of the room and into the flooded backyard, the rest of the squad following suit. "We don't stop until the Militia are crushed… this one is for Crates."


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter has cameos from The Losing Side by Golden Sheath. You can read it here: **** s/11004834/1/Titanfall-The-losing-side**

October 13, 08:17 Hours

The Militia was putting up a valiant fight. Several squads of IMC grunts and Specters had fallen to the Militia's defense. The last objective for this mission had been to destroy this base. It held databanks that most likely held very important information as well as serving as a storage facility.

Spencer and the advance forces that spearheaded this assault were unprepared for the amount of resistance they faced. A majority of their force had fallen within the first few minutes of their assault. The biggest factor in the Militia defense was the Titans the Militia had. Spencer had spotted at least thirty of the hulking machines since the IMC had initiated their attack, whilst the IMC only had a handful of the machines available at the moment.

Spencer cursed to himself as he struggled to pull himself up to a knee to gun down a group of grunts who had been harassing him for the last few minutes. Leveling his rifle to his shoulder he squeezed the trigger of his R-101C. The weapon kicking and jumping in his hands as the rifle hammered round after round into the olive clad soldiers in front of him. Spencer grinned as the rounds struck their targets, the force of the projectiles causing the grunts to twist and contort as beautiful, vibrant red arced from their forms as flesh gave way to lead. Putting another burst into the unfortunate few who happened to be in his way he dropped the nearly spent magazine, grabbing a fresh rectangular cartridge and slammed it home before moving locations.

Standing up, he started for a sprint, crossing the street as he rushed out of his bombed out coffee shop. Spencer looked up as a blue dot flash over his own on his mini-map to see Wardd arcing over him and into the second story window of the building he was also heading toward. The corporal slowed his stride as his sergeant leveled his G2A4 mid arc, fire a trio of rounds and land gracefully inside the building. Shaking himself of his reverie he rushed into the building delivering a full force kick to a grunt who was preoccupied with the commotion upstairs.

Spencer laughed as the man dropped like a brick. All this violence was doing wonders for his pent up anger, he shouldered his rifle and got a round off into the man's head when a pair of arms locked around his neck. "Oh no you don't!" He gasped out, flipping the offender over his head. He grinned wickedly as the offending grunt slammed into the ground back first, knocking the wind from her. Releasing his rifle to let it swing on his sling he snatched his knife from his sheath. He swung his arm down heavily, managing to get an inch of the steel blade through her thick armor, stabbing her just under her right breast. The woman let out a panicked, pained scream as both her hands shot up to stop the IMC pilot from hilting the blade on her ribs. Spencer grunted from strain as he struggled to push the knife deeper. "...Argh...Just die already!" he ground out, locked in stalemate. The battle would of went on for some time if a grunt had not rushed around the corner.

Spencer cursed as he fumbled to yank his sidearm from his holster, watched as the olive grunt gazed upon the scene. A rage filled "Jess! Nooo!" Escaped the man's lips as he leveled his own R-101C. Spencer heard a thud followed by a gunshot and flinched instinctively. Spencer heard screaming as the grunt laid on the ground minus a kneecap. The Militia foot soldier writhed as he tried to level his rifle, hissing out, "You damn IMC fu-" before being terminated by another crack.

"Get it together corporal, stop playing with your dead body and move it. Base isn't going to capture itself." Wardd grunted, glancing down at his Hammond sidearm gingerly as he secured the weapon. He glanced to the corporal, motioned with his head to follow and turned to leave. "Let's go."

Spencer stowed his own sidearm which he had managed to pull halfway from the holster. Stood up, dusted his pants off and looked at the grunt who was no longer thrashing wildly. Spencer looked on with confusion, he was sure the wound wasn't bad enough to kill her that quickly. He gripped the handle and yanked the blade free. He grinned slyly as the grunt let out a pained mixture of a gasp and a hiss as the blade freed her body. As the IMC pilot moved to finish her, crouching down, he was intercepted by Wardd.

"I said, _**now, corporal**__._" Wardd warned, annoyed.

Spencer sighed, roughly turned the woman's head, muttering, "Consider yourself lucky." as he stood and followed Wardd out the side of the building.

As he neared Wardd the man turned to regard him, then motioned for a small bunker that was recessed into the ground. That was Omega squad's current objective, they were tasked with infiltrating and eliminating enough of the Militia forces to create an opening in their defense net. That would allow the majority of the IMC assault force, when they arrived, to crush the remaining Militia forces.

"Alright, here is the plan. We are going to rush that bunker, get past the machine gun fire and infiltrate through the slots of the structure. From there we push through their defensive line, once we secure the bunker we place some directional charges to leave a hole for more infantry to get inside if need be." Wardd explained, placing several markers on Omega squad's tactical map, at the same time these markers appeared superimposed on Spencer's Heads Up Display.

Spencer nodded, then smirked, "Run into the wall of bullets? Because how are we supposed to get past all that machine gun fire? I mean I'm pretty sure this armor is great at absorbing bullets, but not too great at stopping them though." Spencer joked, laughing to himself at the reality of the joke which died down sharply when Wardd turned to him. Spencer couldn't see his face, he could tell from his body language that Wardd was not in the mood for jokes. He muttered a pathetic "...Sorry." before Wardd spoke.

"I have a plan for that but, hey, go ahead, you seem to be good at dodging death." Wardd jested, whilst he removed a pair of smoke grenades from their rigging. "Unlike some of us..." He added under his breath.

Spencer recoiled, then spoke in an angry accusing tone. "You blaming me for Crates' death?" Spencer growled. "Last time I checked getting fucking ambushed isn't something you can control. I told you, an enemy pilot managed to get the drop on us."

"You mean just like how that pilot _managed to 'escape'_?" Wardd warned.

Spencer bristled at the accusation, even if it was a valid one, "If you have something to say to me Sergeant, say it."

"I need you to get your shit together, _**corporal**_." Wardd spoke again with his calm anger.

"Well what the hell do you want me to do?!" Spencer couldn't stop himself from yelling.

Wardd turned with such speed and anger Spencer feared for a split-second that he was going to be struck. "I need you to do your damn job. The one you're fucking paid to do." Wardd said with finality. "Do I make myself clear?" The sergeant asked.

Spencer tensed up, seethed with anger and ultimately deflated. With a dejected sigh he added a reluctant, "Yes... Sir."

"Good." Wardd said slightly surprised. He knew Spencer had quite the temper when he eventually got worked up enough. So when Spencer didn't blow up on him he was surprised at his self control. "Now... Cover me while I toss these smoke grenades." he instructed.

Spencer blanched at the simplicity of the notion. '_Smoke grenades? Really? That's never going to work._' He thought which he also voiced to Wardd.

"Well if you have a better plan, go ahead." Wardd responded, before pulling the pin on one of the smoke grenades and throwing it out into the area in front of the small bunker which continued to pour death from its ports.

Spencer sighed silently, and watched as a small puff of red which was soon followed by an ever thickening cloud of the red substance. He watched as Wardd threw the other silver cylinder, further this time, in the same direction, more smoke soon filling the space between them and the bunker.

"Red smoke? Aren't those for marking strike zones?" Spencer asked, confused.

"Didn't bring any white smoke. Had to improvise." Wardd said dismissively before rushing forward. Spencer paused, the machine gun fire hadn't stopped, it had just become more erratic, less controlled. Spencer didn't know if that was supposed to make him feel safer or not. Regardless, he forced himself to follow after Wardd, much to his body's protest.

Spencer dashed through the smoke trailing after Wardd who was barely visible in the thick cloud. Spencer saw Wardd slide, and disappear, most likely into the bunker. He rushed forward at a hastened pace, slid similarly as Wardd did and was met with a sudden clearing of atmosphere and several startled Militia soldiers, some of which stood dumbstruck, others rushing to their weapons. Spencer brought up his R-101C catching one of the grunts in the back reaching for a shotgun with several rounds in the chest, to which he rocked backwards and crumpled. He put another burst into a young, wide-eyed man who stood locked in terror. His face contorted to agony, while his mouth was wrenched open in a silent scream before he ceased.

Just as he began to adjust his aim, the grunt closest to him, one of the machine gun operators grabbed his R-101C trying to wrench it from his hands. Spencer grunted, struggled for a second, then slammed the grunt into the chest high wall of the bunker, before quickly dropping the weapon. While the grunt tried to turn the rifle that was just too long to gracefully and practically maneuver in the tight space, the corporal placed both his hands on either side of the grunt's helmeted head and gave a quick, sharp twist. Earning a sickening crack, Spencer watched as the grunt suddenly went rigid then limp, head almost backwards as he flopped to the floor.

Spencer retrieved his dropped weapon from the dead operator's hands with a curt nod and a "thank you." Spencer turned to Wardd who was just finishing up his own grunt, spitting a long string of expletives as he stabbed the whimpering form under him multiple times, each time the blade left his opponent it brought a trail of blood with it to flick and splatter on Wardd and the area around him. Spencer walked over to Wardd, and glanced at the grunt who looked up with pained, pleading eyes. Spencer got the message, leveled his rifle and fired off a single shot before he placed his hand on Wardd's shoulder.

"...Wardd… Wardd… Sergeant!" Spencer called out, causing the man to turn to him aggressively. The young pilot removed his hand defensively then added, "I think he's dead…" He said in a firm yet friendly tone.

Wardd sighed, cleared his throat, then added a "R-Right." He looked around the room, surveyed the scene then added a "Nicely done." Wardd walked to the other end of the bunker, and looked into an underground tunnel network, checking his right then left before turning to look at Spencer quickly. "Place the directional charges, then blow them. We need to get moving and fast. Won't be too long before the Militia notice one of their bunkers isn't firing.

Spencer nodded and rushed over to Wardd, removing a pair of explosive charges that were strapped to his backpack. Running back over to the far bunker wall Spencer placed the charge flush on the instacrete wall and one angled outwards on the ceiling of the bunker. After making sure the explosive charge was secured and shaped properly by the explosive back-plate he made his way back over to his commander, tapped his shoulder and gave a thumbs up when Wardd turned to him. Without looking away from his tunnel Wardd fished out a kill switch detonator, and raised it above his head so Spencer could see it.

Taking that as his signal, Spencer tucked his head into his body as best he could as Wardd detonated the charges.

Spencer felt the shockwave, then heat then _heard_ the explosion as the ground shook as half a ton of instant concrete was destroyed, leaving a massive hole in the bunker.

"Gomez, this is Wardd, take the others and converge on my position, you are to head through the tunnels and make it through their defensive line. I have Spencer with me. We are to neutralize anything and everything defensive, be careful." Wardd said quickly as he began to move down the hallway to his right.

"Spencer cover our six, there's no way the Militia didn't hear that, we need to hurry before we completely lose the element of surprise." Wardd said out loud, moving at a half jog down the hallway, rifle still raised and readied.

"Got it." Spencer said as he cautiously backed out the doorway leading to the now destroyed bunker. Spencer trailed behind Wardd, constantly checking behind him, wary of being caught off guard. They went on for a few minutes in the narrow space, dirt and dust sometimes falling from the ceiling as distant explosions shook the tunnels. The sounds of gunshots were prevalent as well, their sounds being amplified and echoing down the claustrophobic space. Spencer stopped as Wardd raised a fist over his shoulder, the universal "hold position" gesture. Spencer checked behind him and complied.

Wardd gestured with his left hand to a doorway, from which heavy machine gun fire could be heard. Spencer nodded, pulled one of his Frag grenades, and edged closer to the doorway. Pulling the pin from the grenade and releasing the safety mechanism with a soft, nearly inaudible plink, due to the din of the echoing rapport of belt fed machine guns, he counted out two seconds before throwing the fragmentation grenade. The silver spherical object bounce off the wall of the doorway and skittered along the floor of the bunker for half a second before detonating in a hail of smoke and thunder. Spencer and Wardd waited a short moment after the explosion to peer into the room.

The high explosive payload of the grenade left little of the Militia forces in the small space save for body parts and mangled weapons and equipment.

Wardd let out a low whistle of appreciation, adding a "Nice toss." as he stepped over the various chunky remains of dead soldiers to place the last of his explosive charges while Spencer checked the hallway. Moments later Wardd returned to the hallway with an explosion shortly following.

"Alright that's two bunkers. Let's get out of here and hit their Autocannons that are protecting their main complex. Once we clear that we can get Titans and air support to help us out, not to mention reinforcements." Wardd instructed as they stampeded down the narrow service corridor.

Spencer listened as their own heavy footsteps that echoed down the hall were soon joined by a myriad of others. Wardd noticed it too and crouched down behind one of the support pillars that spanned the length of the tunnel. Spencer followed his example, similarly finding cover behind one of the large steel beams, positioning himself across from Wardd.

Glancing at his mini-map he saw several orange-red dots converging on their position. His helmet's built-in motion tracker conveying the Militia's movement as they rushed towards the smoldering pile of rubble that remained of their two bunkers. He waited for the group to pass before daring to glance at his squad commander. Wardd nodded to Spencer in some unspoken language, affirming his consent with a curt nod of his head. In tandem the duo spun around and opened fire on the group of soldiers, Spencer firing in automatic bursts whilst Wardd carefully placed his shots.

Spencer watched as one, then two fell from his hail of hot lead. He grinned wickedly when his fourth burst caught two more grunts in the legs and stomach before the charging handle clicked back as the slide locked open. Spencer dropped the magazine, listening as the plastic and aluminum cartridge clattered to the ground, before ramming home a new magazine and chopping the charging lever forward.

The corporal fired a few more bursts into those still standing as Wardd finished off the stragglers with quick, concise shots. Wardd stifled an appreciative chuckle that turned into a happy humming sound. "Now that's what I like to see." Wardd complimented.

Spencer shrugged, "They're only grunts, not much of a threat... and we had the drop on them... Besides, don't we have a job to do?" The young pilot added rhetorically.

Wardd paused, Spencer could tell he was frowning. "Very well." he sighed, "...Let's get moving." Wardd said tersely, promptly spinning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction.

"...Yeah... Let's..."

The two followed in palpable, irritable silence, dispatching various grunts and pilots when they encountered them. Eventually the pair had made it out through an access ladder when the tunnels had turned into sewers. Spencer silently admired the work as they worked through the area.

The Militia had set up base in a warehouse yard that had been turned into a short-term military base during the first Titan Wars. The IMC had no desire to upkeep the seemingly unnecessary facility, allowing the Militia to slaughter or recruit the civilians who used work here and make a home for themselves.

Eventually Wardd and Spencer managed to meet up with the remaining members of his squad. "Okay, everyone here?" Wardd spoke rhetorically, quickly glancing to the pilots around him. Satisfied that everyone who should be present was in fact present, he continued. "Alright Fanucchi, split up your demo charges, we're going to take down their autocannon network. We can only manage to get a few more squads of grunts through the tunnels before the enemy figures out what we are trying to pull and shut us down." Wardd explained as his squad prepared themselves for the task at hand.

Shortly after det-charges had been distributed the group moved out. Rushing to the looming weapon platform that housed six massive gauss cannons, all firing at their own independent targets. The good news was that the main defense for the area was centralized. And that was the extent of the good news. Four Titans, several detachments of grunts, two squads of pilots, not to mention the handful of Specters that also guarded the exterior of the building. The Militia had a small army defending this building, emphasizing the importance of this structure.

Spencer hoped that that was the extent of the Militia forces for the weapon platform but knew that there was most likely people inside the facility.

"Damn..." Somebody whistled, "Look at all those swingin' dicks..."

"Well Sarge… How are we supposed to get past these guys?" Turner asked, a little overwhelmed with the almost insurmountable odds they faced.

"By pulling some favors…" Wardd responded while he fished out a laser designator from his grab-sack. He pointed the clunky looking monocular and held down a small killswitch built into the device, lazing the target for utter annihilation. "Ares 1-1 this is Omega 1-1, a target has been painted for suppression. Be advised, danger close." Wardd called in, hailing the artillery unit a few miles from the main battlefield.

There was a short pause before a voice cracked onto the radio channel. "Omega 1-1 this

is Ares 1-1, coordinates have been confirmed. Firing for effect." A rich voice rumbled smoothly over the radio.

Wardd motioned for everyone to hunker down as several shells streaked overhead to initiate a devastating artillery shelling. Several massive explosions engulfed the defending Militia forces, giant clouds of thunder fire and smoke. Several thousand pounds of dirt and concrete were displaced as the massive fireballs enveloped a majority of the Militia forces in the first salvo. The following strikes either completely annihilated the mangled wrecked husks of the Titans or killed any lingering outer defense forces.

As soon as the salvo started it was over, several craters and the warped, charred, mangled superstructures the only things left after the devastating shelling. Omega squad looked on the aftermath for a short while before Wardd spoke up. "Alright let's move! Go, Go!" The man nearly screamed as his squad rushed towards the now defenceless facility. The collective of soldiers moving as fast as their legs could carry them as they rushed ever closer to their target.

As the group moved Wardd opened a private channel to the corporal. "Stick to the objective Spencer, do I make myself clear?"

Spencer rolled his eyes and sighed, not bothering to respond, instead focusing putting one foot in front of the other.

The soldiers made it about halfway to their target when the iconic thrumming of several Militia Crow dropships could be heard. Wardd slowed to turn and watch as several pilots, specters and grunts poured from the collective dropships, weapons trained to the only figures moving through the aftermath of the artillery strike. "GET TO COVER!" Wardd yelled out as he dove to the ground, hunkering down behind the massive arm of a Ogre Titan as the space around him was filled with bullets.

Similarly, Spencer ground to a halt, taking cover in a foxhole that had formed from the shelling. He looked over to his squad who was hunkered down, blind firing their weapon whenever possible. Wardd looked to Spencer then motioned with his head to start firing at the enemies that were rapidly approaching their position. Spencer shook his head, turned and ran off back towards the objective. '_He wants me to stick to the objective? Fine then, let's stick to the objective…'_ Spencer thought maliciously as adrenaline fueled his muscles to possess speed and strength normally that would normally be impossible. With the Militia reinforcements busy with his squadmates he made it to the facility entrance with relatively no resistance. Only having to put a burst in a pair of surprised guards as the pilot vaulted over their small sandbag castle.

Eyeing a small access panel to a pair of large, metal double-doors he groaned when the door required a password and shuffled around for his data-knife, a small, bladed hacking apparatus that possessed automated algorithms to bypass security measures. Taking a moment to survey his surroundings he popped open the metal facing to the access panel and found a small access port to jam the blade into. He watched as a small interface on the end of the handle tracked the algorithms progress before turning green, earning a hiss of approval as the doors parted. Spencer stowed his knife quickly before he received a transmission from Wardd.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Wardd bellowed.

"Sticking to the objective." Spencer responded calmly.

"And you just abandon your squad?!" Wardd yelled between gunshots.

"It would be a waste if we all died and didn't even get close to completing the objective." Spencer said as he swept the hallways, making his way towards the main generator room of the platform. "I'm just trying to be efficient. You know doing my damn job."

"You're acting like a fucking child! When I get the chance. _If_ I get the chance, you're in some fucking hot water." Wardd sounded beyond mad, but Spencer couldn't help but think that the Sergeant had forced his behavior. If he had just kept his freaking mouth shut.

"Yeah well…" Spencer paused to put a burst into a group of patrolling grunts and their pilot vanguard, stepping over their corpses before resuming his trek and his conversation. "We'll see if you still feel that way when I complete the objective, if I don't die first." Spencer said the "eat shit" attitude draining from his voice as he spoke with somber realism.

Wardd cursed under his breath muttered something about reprimands then went silent.

Spencer sighed in relief at his silence, Wardd tried to be the force that held the squad together, kept them professional. But the way he said things, acted, handled situations really irked the corporal. As Spencer made his way progressively closer to the center of the platform he started to meet progressively tougher opposition, some groups actively seeking him out, others standing around choke points with heads on a swivel. Spencer cursed, it was times like these he wish he had a silencer. Instead he resigned himself to check his map and begin planning. From what his sensors could detect he was only another 50 meters to the heart of the platform, where the generators for the autocannons were located. Their loud, thumping roars continued to reverberate in the enclosed space as the cannons fired nearly drowning out any thoughts Spencer had began to form.

Spencer sighed, and resigned himself to chuck one of his remaining grenades down the hall towards the voices he heard. After a click, followed by a grunt of effort as Spencer hurled the fist sized spherical object as hard as he could muster down the corridor. A short second later a thunk was heard followed by a surprised gasp and a terrified, "GRENA-" interrupted by a loud pop, then silence. Spencer moved quickly and silently as he swept the corridor for any hidden or lingering threats. Spencer found nothing aside from the desecrated remains of several grunts. Spencer gingerly stepped over the corpses and made his way to the final area just before his objective.

The room was large and circular with several hallways branching from the room along various points of the roundabout. In the middle of the room sat his objective, a massive generator platform with an elevator in the core of the systems. Spencer also noticed several pilots some conversing, others were ordering grunts around or watching their own posts. Spencer checked his grenade belt, he still had three of the small orbs, one of which he was about to use. Looking at one of the empty hallways he threw the grenade down the length of one, earning an explosion followed by gunfire. Apparently the hallway wasn't unoccupied like the young pilot had thought as several scared and confused soldiers started shooting the area around them in a panic. Spencer cheered to himself silently as the pilots moved to inspect the noise. Spencer rushed the now largely unoccupied generator platform, fist slamming down on the elevator release, causing the cage to descend into a subterranean room where a complex power system was kept. Spencer had his rifle leveled as the elevator went down, something which he was thankful for as he put a three round burst in a Specter's head. The back of its angular metal head blossoming as the round left the construct.

Spencer however, was not so lucky as the second Specter managed to get a five round burst of CAR rounds into the corporal's chest. The small caliber rounds punching through the metal plating on his chest before being stopped by his ballistic vest underneath. Spencer groaned in agony but fired back, the machine catching a wide pattern through its chest and neck. The machine twitched and dropped as its systems failed. Doing a quick pat down Spencer muttered a, "Fuuuuck…" his voice tapered off to a groaned whine as he palpated his chest, gloved fingers running over the short, metal pancakes that remained of the flattened bullets.

After a moment of forcing himself to swallow the pain, he found a massive machine with a sea of wires going to and from it. Spencer checked the display on the machine, reading several outputs and how this machine was regulating all of it. Spencer grinned wickedly putting the charge he was given in one of the cable junctions deep inside the machine. Arming the charge, he stepped back across the room, found a machine to hide behind and detonated the bundle of explosives. While the IMC pilot could not see from his current location the machine crumpled in on itself for a split-second before expanding impossibly as metal sheared and blossomed from the machine which erupted and was then consumed in a massive cloud of smoke, thunder and fire.

Spencer stood a short moment after the explosion went off, several machines emitting rapid, high pitched whines of alert. Spencer then surveyed his surroundings, finding two identical energy couplers at the far end of the room. A quick tracing with his eyes had revealed that they joined several power cables into a larger, singular cable. Spencer took one of his two remaining grenades and jammed one into the junction of wires where they began to fuse into the coupler. Satisfied that his grenade would not become dislodged, he ripped the pin and sprinted across the room to hide behind another large machine. Another satisfying explosion followed by the sound of several machines and lights shutting off at once that was nearly drowned out as a set of generators sputtered and powered down. Soon, Spencer repeated the process and most of the facility was dark and powerless. Spencer moved to the now powerless elevator and looked up the shaft where the sounds of angry voices, rushed footsteps and the weapons platform firing could be heard. Spencer had to remind himself that the generators would soon overload without a regulator to keep them in check, that or the weapons would tear themselves apart as they fired their energy based projectiles, when he began to berate himself when his plan didn't instantly work.

"Fuck! Someone get down there and kill whoever did this! Everyone else… check for intruders!" He heard a deep, gruff voice belt out. Shortly followed by several shouts and a pair of jumpkits firing to slow a fifteen foot drop.

Spencer barely had the thought to hide as two pilots dropped to the ground of the circular basement with a heavy thud. A picture of an Atlas Titan holding a planet painted onto their helmets. Spencer watched from his dark corner, with his armor lights dimmed as the group split up to search the room.

Spencer flicked his knife out of its sheath on his lower back with practiced fluidity as he watched the beam of a flashlight sweep ever closer to his position. He waited for the beam to shorten as the source of light stepped ever closer, rapidly closing distance in the quick search. Spencer waited another moment, reading the knife in his hand as he pounced the pilot now just feet away from him.

The pilot turned at the sudden movement, made a surprised gasp then a pained, bloody gurgle as Spencer drove his knife through the other pilot's windpipe, a dull clicking sound barely audible as his blade stuck a vertebrae. The pilot began to move for the blade in his neck before the corporal twisted the blade sharply and withdrew the instrument. The Militia pilot gurgled, hands snatching to the gaping wound in his neck. Crimson poured from his neck as the man weakly dropped to his knees, struggled in vain for a moment then expired due to blood loss.

Spencer stepped over the corpse and began to quickly stalk the other pilot, his boots making soft thuds as he tried to be as quiet as possible. He made it closer to the pilot now being able to see the back of the person dressed in heavy olive cloth, metal and kevlar. Spencer unholstered his Hammond sidearm and flicked off the safety in a smooth, practiced movement. He leveled the weapon, lining the weapon's iron sights with the back of the other Pilot's head. Two echoing cracks followed by a heavy thud and Spencer was alone in the dark with two corpses.

A moment later he was looking back up the elevator shaft. Fighting could be heard as what Spencer assumed was the IMC assault force broke through the severely weakened defenses of the Militia. Spencer took that as his queue to exit the basement of the facility, using this moment to climb out of the basement via the elevator shaft. Using his jumpkit to propel him higher Spencer began a very physical haul up the shaft, grabbing support beams and struts as he made his way out. A few minutes of strenuous activity and several jumpkit boosts he had exited the shaft and was back into the central room a few corpses from the Militia and IMC were present in the room but no one else. Staring around the empty room he heard several distant firefights down some of the hallways. Spencer picked one at random and began to walk down the hallway and its several branching corridors. He took this time to hail Wardd.

"So, was that 'doing my damn job' Sargeant?" Spencer chided when his Sergeant responded to his hailing.

"If you mean leaving your squad for dead while you ran off. Then yes." Wardd snapped back.

"Hey, I got the job done. And with only one det charge. Besides, you had the situation handled." Spencer replied as he swept corridors and dark corners, stepping over the random grunt or specter he made his way past.

"Situation handled or not you had left your teammates. Besides you only got lucky."

"I may have gotten lucky, but I was way more efficient than our entire squad would of been. And I was only doing the job 'I'm paid to do'. Defeat the Militia. And today… I did that."

Wardd grumbled, he hated when the corporal referred to the IMC's directive as his orders because those superceded any and all orders given otherwise. The IMC wanted their combat forces to eliminate the Militia as efficiently as possible, Spencer had managed to do so. But then again he had also put the squad at risk, IMC assets at risk, Wardd sighed angrily. He would handle this situation later, for now the corporal was to regroup. "Regroup, we still have a mission to complete."

Spencer made a hum of approval before responding a quick, "Affirmative." and continuing down the corridor nearing an exit. As he reached a pair of service doors that led to the outside cold air, rain finally dying down after its violent downpouring it displayed last night. As soon as he exited the building he watched a Atlas Titan aflame with a IMC pilot firing a Spitfire LMG into its circuits rush by, before the pilot jumped back just in time to escape the Titan's self destruct sequence.

Spencer stood and watched the spectacle half in shock as he had narrowly avoided being crushed by the machine. Just as Spencer began to recover he was struck by the butt of a G2A4 rifle. Caught off guard he stumbled to the ground in a dazed state, head throbbing from the impact. The corporal had just enough cognitive function available to him to roll over and grapple the person who struck him who was now attempting, rather poorly, to bash in the corporal's skull. As Spencer struggled to keep the weapon above him from striking him he watched as another pilot clothed in a digital camouflaged assault harness tackle the offending Militiaman from his form.

Spencer jumped to his feet as the man who saved him also leaped to his feet, RE-45 autopistol in hand as he unloaded the magazine into the Militia soldier attempting to stand. The pilot reloaded the weapon then stowed his sidearm before he turned to the corporal. The first thing Spencer noticed was the insignia on his shoulder patch. A lion head with a knife through it in front of a shield, the symbol of the 3rd Assault Division. They were the group that survived Demeter, had faced impossible odds and won, they were legendary, they were efficient and most of all deadly. Spencer felt the burn of embarrassment and gave a quiet "thanks."

The pilot, as if now acknowledging the corporal turned to face him. That's when Spencer noticed his name and rank. The triple chevron insignia of a sergeant painted on the upper right corner of his armor with a name just under that, "Mercury". Spencer fumbled with a salute lowering his hand when the sergeant laughed.

"At ease, Corporal." The pilot spoke in a british accent. "Besides, we aren't out of the thick of it yet." Spencer nodded before gripping his R-101C, and slightly tensed when the Sergeant began to look him over. This caused Spencer to look over his own self, eyes lingering on arms, covered up to the elbow in a heavy amount of blood. "Got into a bit of a scuff huh?" The man asked.

"Yes, sir. Just a bit." Spencer replied

"Listen, drop the sir. Call me Travis, got it?" The british man offered in a firm yet friendly manner. "Unless you are really into boot licking."

"What?" Spencer asked, too confused to take offense at the statement.

"Hey, not going to knock it if you're offering. I'm all for new experiences." Travis joked which quickly died down when the corporal just stared at him. " It's a joke, mate."

"Oh…" Spencer nodded in understanding just as a jumpkit was heard followed by a pair of boots landing heavily.

Spencer snapped around with his R-101C while Travis stood unfazed. As Spencer completed his 180 his rifle was kicked so its barrel pointing down to the ground. Spencer dropped his rifle and had his hand on the handle of his P2011 in a flash snapping the weapon up to the unidentified person's face. He earned a surprised blink from the person followed by a smug grin that melted to a frown. "Nice reaction, but you need to work on your situational awareness." The helmetless female pilot spoke. "Both of you." She said coldly.

"Aww come on Rox' don't be like that. My friend almost put a round between your eyes." Travis said raising his arms and letting them fall in exasperation.

"That's _captain_ Roxy. Got it? Or do I need to remind you?" The female, who was apparently called Roxy, and a captain, warned. Oh shit… Spencer had almost shot a captain. He could see the court martial forming in his head right now.

"If that lesson is gonna be in a bed then I'm all for it." Travis smiled cockily.

"Corporal. Where is your squad and what is your objective?" Captain Roxy asked completely ignoring Travis' suggestive comment with a sort of calm anger.

"My squad is about three hundred meters north of here. Our objective is to destroy the Militia Databanks here."

"Good, that's our objective as well. We will escort you there." She huffed making a head movement as Travis turned and started to head out, leading the way as Spencer followed. They walked for two or three minutes before linking up with Travis' squad, all similarly high ranking soldiers, before heading to link up with Spencer's squad.

The corporal followed the other two operatives into a portable office building where several similarly garbed soldiers were stationed. Some checked and rechecked gear while others looked over maps or tactical readouts. That's when he noticed a slightly taller man turn to regard the people who just walked in. "Ah, Travis, Roxy, took you two long enough, and who is this?" The man spoke, looking at Spencer.

"Some Pilot Travis saved." Roxy said dismissively, crossing the room and finding something to busy herself with.

"'Some Pilot' huh? That won't do. Alright boy, name, rank and deployment information." The man demanded authoritatively.

Spencer tensed before sputtering the requested information. "Devin Spencer, Corporal, Omega Squad, First Special Operations Group, sir!"

"F-SOG huh? Heard good things about them. What are you doing out here? Where is your squad." The man asked, only pausing to look over his shoulder before returning to several maps splayed about a table.

"I broke off to decommission the Militia defense platform." The corporal replied, with as much causality he could muster. "My squad is somewhere… northwest of here." He said after quickly checking his map.

"You're telling me you took that facility out solo?" The man turned around this time to regard the pilot. Allowing Spencer to gaze upon the silver eagle on the man's barely visible collar.

"Yes… Colonel." Spencer gulped, then saluted.

The man grinned, then spoke. "Quite Impressive... if what you say is true." The Colonel mused. "The IMC could use more talented people like you. What would you say to an offer to join an Assault Division?"

"I'd have to decline. I may not get along with them all the time, but I couldn't leave my squad like that." Spencer said almost forgetting to add a, "sir" when he finished talking.

Part of the young pilot had expected the Colonel to be mad at the corporal's refusal. However, the man simply smiled contently then added, "Good answer. Brotherhood before glory huh?" The man smiled before his eyes turned hard and cold. "Sure you don't want to reconsider? There would be a promotion and a pay raise." The man enticed.

Spencer simply shook his head and spoke. "No sir, I would prefer to stay with my squad." He reaffirmed himself, which must of been the words the Colonel was looking his entire visage lightened.

"Well then, let's just meet this squad of yours you'd stand by so readily." The Colonel said before turning to the room at large. "Stow your gear! We're moving out!" He yelled before turning to the young pilot. "Lead the way."

The corporal had lead the way to his way back to his squad, with the Assault Division squad following behind him. Spencer just hoped that Wardd wouldn't be too furious with the man when they arrived.

"Spencer, there you are. The fuck have you been?" Wardd began to yell when he saw the soldiers he was escorting, quickly becoming confused then silent. "Well now that you're here… let's go, and try not to leave your squad behind this time." Wardd said angrily.

Spencer felt he had to say something to his sergeant he didn't like this semi passive aggressive behavior. "Until you stop blaming me for Crates' death I'm going to do what I feel what is right for the situation, orders be damned." Spencer said defiantly, his behavior had been less than desirable, but he got the job done, however it was his behavior that had gotten him in trouble before, he would act like a child and be immature for a time until he cooled off, Wardd's attitude towards the young soldier was not helping Spencer's predicament.

Wardd looked to the corporal, gave a sigh then spoke. "Listen, I don't really blame you for Crates' death, but I do blame you for not avenging him. I just need to make sure you fight for your squad, for the IMC. Promise me you won't do something like that again and we are fine." Wardd said, albeit reluctantly.

Spencer frowned, so at least _part_ of Wardd blamed him for Crates' death. And true he didn't avenge Crates but what was he supposed to tell his commanding officer? 'Sorry, I had a stroke of humanity hit me and didn't avenge my teammate.' That wouldn't go very well with him. Regardless, Spencer muttered, "You can count on me. It won't happen again…" He promised, he wouldn't have a repeat of that situation, what he had told her last night he had meant, and that went for any Militia supporter, he would not suffer his teammates being in danger while he had a say in the matter.

Spencer had expected Wardd to say something in return, but all the man uttered was a content, "Good." before he lead the way into the final area of their mission.

"So… uh… What was that about?" Travis spoke up, Spencer had forgotten the other squad of pilots were with them.

Spencer moved to speak before Roxy cut them off. "Stow it, Travis. Now is not the time." She said grimly before jetting off to the top floor of a massive warehouse building. Spencer went in with the rest of the two squads through a main door which opened into a massive area. A pitched battle raged inside as several squads of grunts and pilots converged on the defending Militia who were armed to the teeth.

"Alright, groups of three!" The commander of the second squad who accompanied Omega bellowed, Stevens if Spencer had remembered correctly."Omega I want you to secure any entrance and exit routes on your way to the databanks. We need things tight and precise here."

Spencer watched as Wardd nodded then handed down orders to his squad. He had never seen someone so high ranked and still in combat. Colonel was quite high when it came to ground forces. but that meant the older man was also very experienced. "Spencer you take Turner and Miller, clear the left side of the building. Everyone else with me we take the right side!"

A short pause to acknowledge orders and the groups were split up. Colonel Stevens and his squad taking the center of the building and the upper floors while Omega took to the sides.

As Spencer took his detachment through small corridors that were inside of portable buildings placed in the warehouse he encountered a small and rather sad skirmish in one of the anterior rooms. A modified spectre unit, was singlehandedly engaging a fireteam of Militia grunts and winning. As the three pilots entered the room the machine's head did a quick 180 on its axis while it slammed another grunt into the ground who was gripped by the machine's inhuman strength by his head. A resounding yell and a snap and the grunt lay motionless. The machine returned its head to its original position while it pulled a Hammond sidearm and fired a trio of shots at a grunt who had entered from the other side of the room. A quick flick of the machine's free hand and another found a knife in his forehead, buried to the hilt. The grunt stood rigid and twitched before eventually falling backwards.

"Damn…" Turner whistled. "What the hell was that? When did Spectres get so good?"

Miller looked the machine over as it recovered its temporarily discarded weapon. "Looks like a BRD-03 Special Operations Spectre. These things are rare, and super expensive. Almost as capable as a pilot, much more deadly than your standard spectre." Miller chimed in.

"Well whatever it is, glad it's on our side." Turner said as the spectre quickly stalked off, looking for more targets to eliminate.

Spencer said nothing and simply motioned for the squad to continue, eliminating any hostiles they encountered on the way, and assisting any friendlies they saw as well. Soon, half of the facility was owned by the IMC, with more reinforcements on the way. The corporal checked his remaining ammunition, still within acceptable parameters, mostly because he had been using the ammunition that he had taken from Bishop, his squadmates, Turner and Miller however, were not doing so well. Splitting his remaining ammunition they pushed into a larger room that linked to another building that housed the data center.

"Remember, we are to extract any data if possible, if not, destroy it." Wardd reminded his squad over the radio.

"Turner, Miller, I'll watch our six, I don't have any det' charges in case we need to blow it." Spencer said as he dropped a pair of grunts and a pilot who were running down a side hallway into the larger room.

"Gotcha, good luck." Miller said as he and Turner converged on the data center with the rest of Omega and Colonel Steven's squad. Spencer stayed in the hallway forming a makeshift little bunker while he waited for Militia combatants to form a counter attack. Much to his disappointment and relief he was only met with minimal resistance, taking down only a handful of grunts and a pilot or two before he received word from command.

"All units this is Captain North. We have secured the databanks and are locking down this sector. All available ground assets are to stop any Militia from escaping the area. Excellent work, see you all ship side." The man spoke before the comm snapped off.

"Spencer, I need to you head out and look for any stragglers. We have things handled in here." Wardd said over the comm, getting a double click of acknowledgement from Spencer who rushed out towards the open back of the warehouse where multiple Militia forces were scattering. Some rushed onto waiting Crow dropships that zipped off moments later or ran to blend into the surrounding areas. Spencer spotted a group of Militia rushing towards a large, sparsely wooded area off to the side of the warehouse, where a crow dropship was waiting above a portable building.

He watched as several Militia soldiers and pilots who seemed wounded or were carrying dead moved closer to the ship, which lowered itself to hover half a foot off the ground. Taking this as his chance, Spencer pushed his morales deep down and rushed the group. Quickly dispatching the small detachment of Spectre drones that were escorting the group. The door crew for the Crow saw the approaching pilot and got in position to lay covering fire to little effect as the corporal dove to the right as a line of bullets ripped up the concrete where he was moments ago. Leveling his R-101C he fired a single shot catching the door gunner in the face, the bridge of his nose shattering as the back of his head painted the inside of the ship. The other door gunner caught a pentagon pattern in his abdomen, folding over to roll in pain on the deck of the Crow. The wounded that could attempted to fire as well and were similarly gunned down. Spencer reloaded and stood up running forward and out to the Crow in time to see several people rushing to get aboard.

Leveling his rifle again he placed his sights on a pilot huddled over, helping another wounded get secured on board. Spencer grinned this was going to be two kills for the price of one. He took a pause to line his shot up as the Crow began to lift off when the pilot stood and turned to look at him.

Spencer's breath hitched as he saw Bishop, helmet off, covered in the blood of her comrades, a tired expression upon her features as she stared with sad anger at Spencer. Spencer slowly lowered his rifle to gaze at her as the ship slowly completed its ascent. He watched as her expression turned to one of relief as Spencer shook his head and turned away. He walked away disappointed with himself, as to why he was unsure, only the sound of the Crow's engines kicking into overdrive as the ship accelerated to jump speeds pulled him from his reverie.

"This is Omega 5-1… I managed to get a few of them, the majority of them managed to get away." Spencer reported in. True, he could have gunned down the entire mass of people on the Crow but he hadn't done so, and now he felt drained.

"Affirmative, we made a pretty big victory today regardless. Link back up for extraction." Wardd responded over the radio.

Spencer sighed deeply, tiredly, then responded, "Affirmative, moving out."


	9. Chapter 9

October 20, 0735 Hours

Shore leave. Every ship crew's two favorite words. An extended amount of freedom. When soldiers have next to no duties to attend to. As such, Spencer had to ask, just to make sure he wasn't being tricked.

"Seriously? Shore leave, sir?" The corporal asked hopefully.

"Yep." Wardd said shortly handing Spencer a bundle of papers, several of which were identification and temporary release forms. Several consent papers as well. He sighed as he thumbed through the small stack before looking at Wardd. The Sergeant shifted the duffle bag on his shoulder and looked to Spencer, then to his watch. "You got fifteen minutes to pack up, then we gotta go. Disembark is at 0800." Wardd said before walking off.

That left Spencer to turn around and walk into his own quarters to pack his own things. He glanced at the empty bunk in the room, Crates' things had been taken away two days ago, leaving the room feeling empty. Spencer sighed at the thought and packed a few items he felt he would need. A changes of clothes, two jackets, his wallet and his holo-tablet. As he packed his things he glanced at the holdout weapons in the room, while they were usually stored for an emergency on the ship he would feel better with some protection. Grabbing the small sidearm, he stowed it in his jacket pocket before zipping his bag closed and throwing it over his shoulder.

Spencer took one last look at the room from over his shoulder, muttering to himself as he patted himself down, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything. Satisfied with his quick self search he turned down the hallway and walked until he was in one of the cargo bays in the massive ship. From there he could see the aft bulkhead had been lowered like a ramp, connecting the ship to the dock like a giant ramp.

The currently off-duty found Wardd again, tapping on the man's shoulder to gain his attention. The two had to lean their heads closer to hear each other over the din of the room. "Where are we docked?" Spencer said loudly, so Wardd could hear him.

"Anbul. We're gonna be here for three weeks while the Eden refuels and resupplies." Wardd yelled back.

Spencer smiled and nodded his head in thanks when Wardd spoke again. "The squad is going out for drinks as soon as we get processed out. Wanna come?"

Spencer shrugged, "Sure, why not?" receiving a grin from Wardd. A few minutes had passed rather uneventfully after that as the majority of the crew was processed out of the ship and released to their temporary absence of duty.

He followed his squad as they boarded a transport that took the to a rather large bar only a few minutes out from the Eden, the colossal ship casting a shadow over the city as the sun slowly rose behind it. He lightly participated in the conversations that would pop up. He opted to mostly keep to himself and catch up on the news in the area on his holo-tablet. When nothing of real interest caught his eye he powered the device down, the display dimming before flickering out of existence as he pocketed the device.

Spencer stood as the vehicle lurched to a stop, the rest of Omega squad also followed his actions as they all filed off of the large, people carrying vehicle. As Spencer squinted from the considerably brighter morning light he looked to a bar, rather large for its size, with several laughing and celebrating IMC soldiers, some of them already with early signs of onset drunkenness. He stepped inside after Gomez who eagerly led the way through the sparse crowd of people outside the establishment. The inside of which was full of people, the dark environment filled with a roar of noise as people tried to talk over loud music. Gomez flagged down the busy bartender with a wave and a grin plastered on his face. "Seven of your most expensive drinks!"

"You have 'Seven of your most expensive drinks' money?" Turner joked.

Gomez frowned for half a second before splitting back into a grin. "Of course. First round is on me." He said as the drinks arrived in short order. The tall, darkly colored, slightly foamy beverages clinking together as they softly collided with each other as they slid a short distance down the bartop. The drinks were quickly scooped up, to which Gomez offered up a toast.

"To winning this fight!" He cheered

"To having the best squad ever!" Torrento added.

"Amen to that." Wardd muttered, already sipping on his drink before throwing the drink back, quickly drinking the entirety of the glass cylinder.

Spencer soon followed, finishing his drink quickly, smiling at the pleasant warmth that spread from his throat and stomach. Second drinks were ordered shortly after which were savored a bit longer before they were also consumed.

"So." Gomez asked his squadmates, "What are you guys going to be doing after this?"

"Some girl. Gonna visit the Red Light." Turner said matter of factly, earning laughs from his squadmates.

"Same here." Miller said with a short hand raise and a lowered head, face split in a wide, embarrassed smile.

"Yeah…" Fannuchi chuckled out. "Same here."

The table looked at Wardd, Spencer and Torrento, expectant looks on their faces. "Ehh… why not." Torrento said still sipping his drink.

That left only Wardd and Spencer.

"Sorry boys, I got somebody waiting for me when my deployment is over." Wardd responded, earning sounds of disappointment from the majority of his squad. That left only Spencer, causing everyone to look at him, asking the question with expectant stares.

"Unfortunately… I have some things to take care of. Then… _then_ I'm going to enjoy some alone time." Spencer grumbled with a sigh.

The others shrugged at his response. "Your loss man." Gomez said.

"Yep. Sure is." Spencer all but sighed out as he stood, fishing out a handful of paper money from his pocket. Fishing a couple of bills from the wad of money and throwing it down to the tabletop they had moved to. "For my drinks." He said as he gave a smile and a hand up, silently saying farewell as he made his way through the rowdy, crowded bar. He took a deep breath and sighed in relief as he stepped outside.

The streets now crowded with off duty IMC personnel, he made his way through groups of laughing grunts and partying officers. As the distance between the Eden increased the crowds decreased, soon he was walking among very few IMC contractors and found himself within the sparse crowds of citizens who went about their everyday life. Spencer continued on even then, until the Eden looked like a skyscraper turned on its side on the horizon.

Spencer took this time, now that he was far enough away from the IMC to feel like he was actually on vacation, to look for a place to sleep.

Finding a hotel after a short look around the area, he handed over half of the paper he still had, booking in for two weeks. He figured if he wished to stay the rest of the three weeks here he could pay for it when his time to check out came.

Looking at the metal slab in his hand he looked at the number etched into the card, "151". He thanked the young woman at the reception desk with a smile and trudged up the stairs to the floor where his room would be located. He smiled at the relaxing aroma the hotel had, something sweet with a faint hint of vanilla. The smell wasn't too pervasive, very faint almost like an accent to the notion of a good rest after a long day. Spencer took a deep breath, a relaxed smile creeping into his usually neutral expression.

Soon he had reached his room at the end of the hallway a few rooms away from another elevator and stairwell. Sliding the metal card into a small slot above the door handle he heard a soft click as the lock disengaged as he stepped into the room. He looked at the two queen-sized beds in the right-hand side of the room, throwing his bag on one bed and flopping down back first on the other. Laying there for a long while, simply staring into the white plaster ceiling he sighed contently.

It was nice to be off duty, to not have to answer to someone else, to not be restricted to a tight schedule. He enjoyed being able to at least pretend that there wasn't a massive war of attrition going on in the Frontier and that he was part of it. Sadly though, that train of thought brought him back to reality and with a heavy sigh he dug into his pocket as he sat up. Fishing out a small steel rectangle he pressed an almost invisible button of the back of the device, a bright white construct popping into existence as his phone powered up. He flicked through the handful of missed calls and opened his contacts. After a quick check of time in the core system he thumbed "Home" listening as the phone eventually connected to a satellite over the Earth literally galaxies away.

The phone rang once, then twice before someone picked up. "Hello?"

Spencer fought back tears with arguable success at the sound of his brother's voice. "Hey, Rhys. It's Devin. How have things been?"

"I've been okay. I just got back from school." Rhys went on to have a short conversation that mostly consisted of Spencer asking questions and Rhys answering them. This went on for some time before Rhys asked a question of his own. "Hey, are you in the Frontier?"

Spencer paused before responding, "...Yeah."

"Cool!" Rhys said suddenly very animated.

"I heard they're using Titans out there! Do you get to drive one? I bet those are so fun to drive!"

"Yeah we are using Titans out here. B

It's fun, but it's scary." Spencer responded before turning to another question. "Are Mom and Dad home?"

"No… They're at work." Rhys answered.

Spencer frowned. "...Oh… Okay. Well. Let them know I called and said 'hi'. I'll talk to you later." Spencer said a bit dejectedly.

"Okay, bye." Rhys said plainly before terminating the connection.

Spencer cursed in frustration. While talking to his family wasn't his favorite activity, it had been awhile since he had seen, or even talked to his parents. Part of him wanted to catch up with them but most of their talks were one-sided criticisms that left him off in an even worse mood. Instead of getting in a foul mood he huffed as he stood up, resolving to enjoy himself. Stowing his duffle bag he gave himself a quick pat-down, checking for money, and proper identification. His hand paused and lingered on his holdout handgun. He contemplated on leaving it but ultimately decided that he would rather have it and not need it as opposed to needing it and not have it.

Satisfied with the items on his person he exited his room, the door making another soft click as the door entered the pleasant smelling hallway again, allowing some of his unhappiness bleed from him as he walked back down the hall from which he came, back down the stairs and into the lobby once again. He glanced over to the young woman sitting behind the counter, catching her looking up to the person who had just entered the otherwise vacant lobby. She smiled apprehensively before speaking. "Hi, is there something I can help you with?"

"Um, yeah. I was wondering what exactly there is to do around here. Do you have any suggestions?" Spencer asked looking to her with what he hoped came across as friendly.

"You must be IMC. Came down in the big ship? Nearly rumbled the city to pieces! And the noise?!" She said with cute excited energy. She quickly caught herself, awkwardly feigning a cough before she spoke again. "Anyways… most people visit the dive bar out here or go to the technical museum. There are also tons of fun things like art galleries, a boardwalk… Oh! There is also an arcade!... But uh… you look grown and serious. So you probably… aren't… into... that…" She trailed off.

Spencer smiled, raised a hand in thanks and spoke. "Thanks… uh where would these be in terms of this place?"

"When you leave just make a left, go to the end of the block and take another left. Everything is on Aura Main Street. Can't miss it. Light gray asphalt." She responded before returning to her work.

Spencer thanked her again before walking out the building into the evening sky. Spencer blinked in surprise. _Damn… how long was I in my room? _Shaking his head in self-shame he chuckled to himself, walking down the street as the woman had said, reaching a large street that intersected the dark road with a light, almost white pavement. Spencer looked up and down the relatively busy street, moderate crowds of foot traffic walking about on the large street. Vehicle traffic apparently sparse on this stretch of road. Spencer began to contemplate what he wished to start his night off with first when his stomach decided for him. Shrugging he down the sidewalk adjacent to the street when he spotted a small courtyard accessible through a sign lined alleyway.

Turning right, he walked down the alleyway passing other people at what some would call a "brisk pace". As he reached the clearing he spotted a small dive bar under what looked like a hostel or house. Deciding in the heat of the moment to eat there he stepped up to the establishment.

Dark, mirror-like windows framed the sturdy door that Spencer opened with surprising ease that betrayed the door's appearance. The dimly lit interior accentuated the tables and the bar at which Spencer took a seat at, placing his feet on the stool bar. The small population of the bar made newcomers stand out, thus everyone looked at Spencer as he entered before quickly returning to their food or their company. This also caused the bartender to quickly address the man.

"Hey there. What can I do for you?" The gruff man said as he looked the man up and down. Eyes hard from a rough, experienced life.

"Umm…" Spencer trailed off looking at a small menu posted behind the bar counter. "You guys sell burgers?" Spencer asked in confusion.

"Yeah, my friend Marty can make some mean ones. I take it you want one?" The man asked.

"Yeah, sure." Spencer said with barely contained excitement. It had been ages since he had enjoyed a burger. "One burger and a beer."

"Cheese? For the burger?" The man asked looking up from a paper pad to look at the corporal, grease pencil in hand.

"Cheddar."

The man grunted in approval. "Any preference for the drink?" The man raised an eyebrow at him, silently, but not so subtly judging the man.

"Whatever you think is the best here." Spencer said. "I'm not from around here, don't know any of the local alcohol here." Spencer said casually, only a faint hint of a smile in his tone, still excited over the prospect of getting a burger.

The man nodded, "Fair enough." He said before turning around and walking through the back door. He was gone only for a second before returning to the IMC pilot. "Oh, I take payments up front. Sorry."

"Not a problem." Spencer responded, handing over the required funds.

He watched as the man looked at the money offered, counted it and smiled. "Alright… Your food should be coming up shortly. Let me get your beer."

Spencer nodded in thanks with his hands folded on top of the bar, waiting patiently. Sure enough he had his drink in hand as he awaited his burger. It was a few moments of nigh unbearable waiting as the smell greeted the man long before the food did. Spencer resigned himself to drinking his beverage downing half of the strong, chilled drink before his food came out.

Steaming hot with bacon, cheese and vegetables peeking out from under the top bun, his burger was plunked down in front of him. The thing was massive, covering a majority of the dinner plate in front of him. Spencer grinned as he picked up the hefty burger, taking an eye-watering bite. He groaned pleasurably as he took a bite of one of the best things he has had since he had been deployed. It was way better than any MRE or food served on the Eden. Spencer wiped a tear away and resumed eating his burger, finishing the hefty sandwich after almost fifteen minutes of eating.

Spencer flagged down the bartender who grinned at the corporal as he leaned on the polished bar top. "So how was it?"

"_The fucking best_." Spencer grinned. "I don't think I can go back to eating the crap I usually eat." He said truthfully. "Anyways here is your plate back. Can I get a glass of water?"

The bartender nodded, took the plate, placing it into a black plastic bin full of other dirty dishes and came back with a glass of water.

"Thanks." Spencer nodded with a smile, chasing the food with a cold glass of water.

Spencer got through half of his glass of water when the door was loudly slammed open. A group of rowdy, likely drunk men entering the building. Spencer turned to look at the source of the noise and tensed. There was no mistaking the olive drab the trio wore, not to mention the skull of the Frontier Militia emblazoned on their chest. Spencer returned to nursing his glass of water, trying to remain inconspicuous. He glanced up to the bartender who locked eyes with him, and nodded slightly in understanding.

"Hey, I'll be with you in a moment. Take a seat, and don't break anything." The man said as he walked off to another section of the bar.

"Aww come on now. You can trust us…" One man said, in mock offense. "Besides, were fucking heros!" A caucasian man with a moderate build grinned.

"Yeah, well you 'heros' break anything and you pay to replace it got it?" The bartender looked with calm anger.

"Alright, alright. Look, see? We're taking a seat. How about a couple of cold ones?" The man offered sitting at the bar a few seats from Spencer.

He watched through his peripheral vision as the other two sat down next to Spencer. Quickly upending his drink, swallowing the remains of the water he moved to stand up when a hand was roughly placed on his shoulder. It took every ounce of his being to not attack the man there but he managed to do so barely, instead looking at the man.

"You got a lot of nerve, IMC." The man hissed out, breath laced with alcohol.

Spencer froze, then frowned. "Just here on vacation." He muttered, mulling over how to handle the situation.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" The man growled.

"I don't know. Is it?" Spencer said his foot beginning to tap in frustration.

"Do you know who I fucking am? I'm the fucking Militia!" The man yelled out, the other two men with him now moving to pester Spencer.

"Do you see those skulls?" The young pilot asked, referring to the dark stitching on his arm, six and a half skulls affixed to his jacket. "Those are Titan kills." He said as a passive threat.

"And the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Another man said, with an annoying angry voice.

"It means I'm a pilot. And by the stupidity you three are showing you're all grunts. _Expendable grunts_." Spencer emphasized.

"So the fuck what? That supposed to scare us if you a pilot?" Another man spat.

"It means I'm worth at least fifteen grunts. Fifteen _good_ grunts." Spencer sighed, looking hard at the man who still had his hand on his shoulder. "You three wouldn't stand a chance in hell against me." Spencer said. "Just sayin." He added.

One of the men pulled a switchblade as Spencer wrenched his shoulder free. Spencer acted quickly and in a flash had the barrel of his holdout pistol jammed into the mouth of the man who had held him down. This forced the man onto his knees, back arched and eyes wide with fear. "Now, unless you three want to end up in bodybags tonight I suggest you drop the knife, and step away from me. Understand?" Spencer asked calmly.

One of the men whined out a cursed apology, slowly backing away from but not taking their eyes off of Spencer. The man under Spencer began to whine and protest until Spencer jammed more of the weapon down his throat. "Shut. Up." Spencer growled primally.

The third man didn't move and instead began to curse at Spencer. "You motherfucking, coward. You brought a fucking gun to a knife fight you cocksucking piece of shit. I ought to fucking gut you right here y-" The man was interrupted by the sound of a pump action shotgun being cocked.

"Tell me, is there a problem?" The bartender asked in a very calm, very angry voice. His face in a twisted, pissed off scowl.

"Yeah, is there a problem?" Spencer turned to the new voice. He knew the voice and cursed to himself when he confirmed its identity. Bishop. Shit. Just behind Spencer was another Militia soldier, a pilot. He could tell from the jacket.

"Lookit! This IMC fucker is about to shoot Max!" The man with the switchblade yelled waving to and from Spencer and the man with a gun in his mouth. "He's the problem!"

"This 'IMC fucker' has been a well behaved, paying customer until you Militia asswipes came in starting trouble like you always do." The bartender said with calm anger that was beginning to mount.

"Is that so?" Bishop asked rhetorically. "You three should know better. Don't put civilians in danger." She berated in an amused yet angry tone. "Ahnna, take these three outside for… disciplinary action. I'll take care of the pilot and meet you back home, yeah?" Bishop ordered.

Spencer watched as the other pilot a tall woman with raven hair and piercing blue eyes, take the other two outside, only releasing the other grunt when Ahnna returned.

"Glad you could handle this peacefully, but you finish your business outside and well away from my bar." The man warned.

"Sorry about that." Spencer apologized to the barkeep.

"No problem. Not your fault the Militia is a bunch of brain dead criminals." The man smiled.

Bishop pointedly ignored the man's comment, instead addressing Spencer. "Come on, hotshot." She instructed, staring the IMC pilot in the eyes, barely contained energy in her own.

Reluctantly, Spencer complied, following Bishop outside and down an alleyway where Ahnna was beating the life out of the other three grunts, one of them on the ground with broken arms and a dislocated jaw. One was keeled over, clutching his abdomen and chest as blood poured liberally from his face to pool below him. The female pilot paused long enough to regard Bishop. "What are you going to do with him?" She asked cracking her neck and shaking her arms out.

"Don't worry about it. I'll handle it." Bishop said dismissively. "Gotta find somewhere to hide him first though…" She mused darkly.

"Meh. Do what you please, just come back to the spot when you're... done." Ahnna said delivering a brutal knee to the grunt's chest. "Now what if we caused a scene in there huh? Grunts like you make us look bad. We aren't bad people and we don't need the frontier thinking were the bad guys, now do we?"

"N-no… Ma'am…" The grunt responded between grunts and gasps of pain.

Spencer grimaced at her brutality but was glad those men were getting beat within an inch of their life. However, he didn't get a chance to enjoy their suffering as Bishop roughly, and quickly, shoved the man along and away from the beatdown taking place. They walked for some time, through winding alleys and across dark backstreets. Eventually he felt her touch fade and her footsteps stop. Curious, Spencer turned around to see Bishop staring at a silenced Hammond P2011 held in both her palms. Spencer began to speak when she gripped the weapon and pointed at him, eyes hard.

"Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you." She asked in a timidly angry tone before repeating her question again, this time with more determination. "Tell me. Why I shouldn't you?" She now looked the man in the eye, determined.

"I didn't shoot you." It was all he could think of. Spencer wasn't going to beg, he would at least have enough dignity to do not do that. He returned her gaze, a plaintive look on his face.

She sighed heavily. "Is that the best you've got?"

"If you expect me to beg… I'm not going to." He said stoutly, face still an unreadable mask.

Bishop stared at him hard, sighed and lowered the weapon. "Of course you're not…" she muttered under her breath. She began to speak again when a chirp came from her belt. She sighed shortly then pressed a small, hidden microphone attached to her collar. "What?" She said slightly irritated. Spencer couldn't hear the other side of the conversation but it couldn't be good, as Bishop had a scowl affixed to her face the entire time. "I took care of it." A pause. "Don't worry about it, it's fine." Another pause. "Yes, I'm sure." She sighed exasperatedly. "No… I'll head back later. I need some alone time." She paused again. "Yes. I'll be fine. Byeeeee." She huffed as she turned the communicator off. She looked at him for a moment then sighed. "How about we find someplace to talk? I want some answers and I'm not too keen on interrogating you in an alley." She suggested more as a command.

"Fine by me." Spencer said a very subtle grin forming on his face.

"Great. I have a place I call 'The Den' my own little private space, great for when I want some peace and quiet." She said as she led him through more alleyways. It was some time before they stopped at a repurposed mechanics shop which now served as a living space. Bishop stepped inside, pushing a heavy iron door open with a small grunt of effort. She flicked on a light switch beside the door to cause a pair of fluorescent lights to flicker to life, illuminating a concrete, spartan esque room.

Bishop motioned to the large, old but comfortable couch and commanded, "Sit." with a wave of her arm. She suppressed a chuckle when the man had done so. "So… I have questions and you have answers…" Bishop spoke as she walked behind the couch, leaning over Spencer's shoulder to peer at him. "First question. What are you doing here?" She asked before adding. "Oh, and don't lie to me. I don't like it when people do that."

"I don't know, you brought me here." Spencer retorted.

Bishop frowned then added. "And don't be a smartass. I _really _can't stand those people either." She emphasized her point by tapping the right side of his chest with the extended rectangular barrel of her sidearm.

Spencer grumbled inwardly, "I'm on shore leave, vacation, for a few weeks while my ship refuels and restocks." Spencer answered. "I was actually looking forward to my break when the drunk trio showed up." He said turning to look over his shoulder to see Bishop pacing the room, arms behind her back and chin up in thought.

"Alright… alright…" She mused aloud before turning to gaze at the man. "Okay, second question. Why didn't you shoot me? You had the perfect chance to kill everyone on that dropship, myself included, so tell me why you passed that up?" She said seriously.

Spencer frowned, sighed and then quietly spoke. "Honestly… I don't know. When I saw your face, that sad, ashamed...angry face… I just… I just lost the drive to kill." Spencer looked to Bishop who had now stood in front of the man, staring down with vibrant yellow-green eyes. She was silent for a long time, simply staring with a slight scowl on her face.

"Alright, whatever." She said dismissively, turning away from the man. "I still think it's kinda weird but not gonna question why I'm still alive…"

"So, can I go now?" Spencer asked.

"'Fraid not." She said with a dark grin. "I could kill you now. I got what I wanted. Then again… I might have questions later…" She said casually swinging the sidearm in her hand as she spoke. "Sucks about your vacation though… How bout we make that up with a movie?" She grinned.

Spencer wasn't about to say no. Partially because she may flip out or get angry with him. So instead, he shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Bishop was taken aback by this, she was bluffing and didn't actually expect the man to take her up on her offer. She blushed nervously. "Oh… Uh… Okay. Yeah." She said as she began to move various objects off of a coffee table, searching for something. "Aha! Found it!" She exclaimed, before pausing to look over her shoulder at Spencer. "And stop staring at my ass."

Spencer held his hands up defensively, a grin on his face. "Hey, it's captivating. Besides... you bent down in front of me." Spencer said.

Bishop growled, sighed, then perked up. "Well hopefully this is captivating as well." She said excitedly, popping a silver disk into a small reader sitting under a large screen mounted to a wall before plopping down onto the couch a foot away from Spencer, grinning widely.

"What is it?" Spencer asked curiously as the movie started.

"Only one of the best movies made in the last 5 years!" She said with proud excitement. "'Protocol Rising'."

Spencer remembered seeing this movie before he was shipped out. He had to admit it was good. The plot was well written and had excellent acting, not to mention its superb soundtrack. He hummed in appreciation as the beginning credits began to roll, quickly becoming immersed in the movie.

The plot was some spy who had been recommissioned to hunt down another spy who had gone rouge. The movie had several action packed scenes as the hero chased after the other spy, a curvy woman named Wolfe who wore a near skin-tight bodysuit with tactical rigging covering her body. Eventually the protagonist loses the woman and has to do his own infiltrations to gain counter-intelligence on the enemy. This soon leads to Wolfe hunting the man down through several more action scenes. Soon enough the movie reaches the scene where Wolfe and the hero have a showdown which causes them to fall through a glass skylight into a hotel room.

Spencer grins as his favorite scene comes up as Wolfe reveals that she is a Weaver, some kind of biomechanical weapon that was developed by the protagonist's employer. He watches as the movie shows Wolfe partially decompose and digitally reconstruct, body alight with surging lines of energy as she reveals her true nature. This also happens to be the scene where they confess their feelings to each other, Wolfe speaking first. "I never thought I would find someone so determined, let alone skilled, doing a job like this… I never thought I would fall for the person I was trying to kill." The protagonist responded in kind to which Wolfe responded, "But could you love a monster? Your enemy?"

Spencer's attention was pulled from the movie as he felt Bishop staring at him. He turned to see her looking at him eyes flicking between his own and various points of his face. He noticed the slight moisture in her eyes before she smiled wanly. "Sorry, this part always gets to me. Right in the feels ya know?" She said wiping the moisture from her eyes.

Spencer wanted to say something but felt out of place to do so and simply smiled kindly before reaffirming what she had said. The movie eventually ended with Wolfe and the protagonist going against their organizations and fleeing to a neutral third-party. As the movie ended with an ambiguous, open ended yet happy conclusion Bishop clapped her hands and quickly stood up with a soft grunt.

"Welp. That was awesome. God, I love that movie. The scene where Wolfe uses her powers to rip apart that mech? That never gets old." She sighs happily.

Spencer had to admit that the CGI was top-notch. "Yeah that was a great movie. Easily one of my favorites." Spencer stretched out. He glanced at his watch, then frowned when he saw the time. "So if I can't leave. I'm sleeping here right?"

"Boy, you sure catch on quick." Bishop mocked. Spencer frowned but held his tongue. "You have the couch. I'll get you a blanket." She said walking away, she paused at the doorway for a second before vanishing into the darkness of the next room.

Now that she was gone Spencer contemplated on leaving, but she had been… accommodating... so far. He would try to leave, in fact, every fiber of his being screamed to do so, but at the same time he didn't want to betray her hospitality.

Moments later she returned a heavy blanket in hand, a surprised look on her face. "Wow."

"What?"

"I kinda expected you to escape when I was gone. Wasn't exactly stopping you." Bishop said as she offered him the blanket.

Spencer took the proffered item in hand before turning to Bishop as he replied, "Well, can't say the thought didn't cross my mind. It was just that it felt…" Spencer paused looking for the word. "Impolite? I don't know. Felt wrong, like I was betraying your trust." He shrugged.

"Oh, such a gentleman." Bishop mocked. "Anyways, don't try to kill me in my sleep, my room locks from the inside anyways. Also don't try and bring your IMC robot buddies in here either, one of you dickbags is enough, thank you." Bishop instructed.

"From gentleman to dickbag. Ouch. Quite the demotion." Spencer joked.

Bishop grinned as she made her way to the small kitchen off to the side of the room. "Glass of water?" She asked loudly from around a small corner.

"Yeah, sure, I guess." Spencer said noncommittally. He wasn't big on drinking things before sleeping, especially from essentially a stranger. He shrugged as she brought the glass back, allowing Spencer to gulp down its contents before taking the glass back.

"Goodnight." She said as she turned the lights off in the room, walking into her own and closing then locking the door.

Now in the dark, Spencer sighed then climbed under the covers before slipping into unconsciousness. He didn't dream that night, the couch not quite offering a comfort level for prolonged sleeping, causing the young man to wake up multiple times throughout the night.

Eventually, as morning came he woke to the sound of metal on metal. He snapped up fully alert as he remembered where he was. A quick check of his body had resulted in no wounds found on his person to which he sighed silently in relief. Intrigued by the sound that persisted, he moved to the source which emanated from the kitchen to find Bishop standing in front of a stovetop. Spencer stood and silently oogled all that pale flesh that Bishop flaunted, wearing another dark gray sports bra and a matching pair of boyshorts that ended just below her generous butt. Spencer smirked and stared for a moment before Bishop slowed her movements to regard the man. "How long are you going to stare at me?" She asked annoyed, but with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"You always half naked in the morning?" Spencer responded.

"I wasn't expecting you to still be here, to be honest." Bishop responded, dodging his earlier question. She returned to cooking breakfast as Spencer approached her.

Spencer looked over her shoulder, giving her a small smile as he asked, "Smells good. What are you cooking?"

"Bacon and Pancakes." She sighed dismissively. "And before you ask. No, you can't have any."

"Aww, what? None for me?" Spencer gave a winning smile.

Bishop frowned and turned around just slightly looking up into his eyes. "Spencer…" she sighed. "Just… don't. I don't know what you're trying to get out of this. Or what you think this is bu-" Bishop started to protest before Spencer interjected.

"All I'm trying to get is some breakfast." He smiled disarmingly.

Bishop frowned, almost disappointedly, before slipping back into that cocksure smirk she usually wore.

"Well." She huffed out sounding like "welp", "You can't have any." She finished as she returned to her food.

Spencer shrugged, pouted then spoke. "Aww man…" He chuckled when Bishop shot him a glare. "Alright, well I'm out of here!" He said as he walked out of Bishop's little home.

Spencer sighed, he had no idea how to get back to his hotel from here. He instead relied on the landmark that was the IMS Eden on the horizon as he worked his way back to familiar streets. It was a couple of hours before Spencer was back on familiar streets, with sore feet and tired legs. Eventually he found his way back to the hotel. Sighing in relief as he made his way back to his room.

Quickly shucking off sweat dampened clothes, he grabbed a clean set of clothes and headed to a shower. Standing in the shower for a good fifteen minutes before actually getting cleaned. It was something he took time to enjoy, as on the IMS Eden, showers were limited to a maximum of five minutes in order to conserve water. As he got dressed he fished into his pants pocket as he removed his items from last night. Primarily his wallet, room key and holdout pistol, he sighed when he held the small weapon in his hand, berating himself for not using it on Bishop when he had the chance. '_Right, like I could shoot an unarmed woman_.' He thought to himself as he exited the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist.

Dumping his dirty clothes in a hamper in the room he turned around to see Bishop standing in his room at the door. Spencer had his pistol ready, trained on her center of mass. He took a moment to look her over before sighing raggedly and dropping the weapon. " Christ! I could of fucking shot you." He snapped.

"But you didn't… Again." She answered playfully with a smirk.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asked. "How did you find me?"

"I placed a tracker in the water you had last night. I think you might have pissed it out just now." She said thumbing through his tablet. "You should really set a password on this thing." She said with little interest as Spencer snatched the device from her.

"As for what I'm doing here… well I'm bored and I was thinking we could hang out." She smiled, eyes roving across Spencer's uncovered chest.

"What about your Militia buddies? Won't they think something's up?" Spencer inquired.

"We uh… We don't get along too well. Ahnna's the one exception." Bishop answered. "Don't get me wrong, Ahnna is fun to hang around with, she's good company... but she's too… chaste… I don't know. She never curses, doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. She's always happy, even when she's freaking angry." Bishop huffed, "Besides, you and I aren't really too different and you seem like a fun bunch." Bishop smiled lamely.

"What?" Confused, he questioned the woman.

"Listen, do you want to hang out or not?!" She snapped, her body language looked prepared for him to refuse, but her eyes had an apologetic, hopeful cast to them.

Spencer grumbled to himself and his highly unlikely situation he was in. He threw a little, short-lived, silent tantrum and relented. "Fine." He muttered with a heavy sigh.

"Was that so hard?" Bishop asked in a playful taunt.

Spencer stayed silent, and began to redress when he felt Bishop's gaze. He turned to see her eyes roaming his naked upper body, the lower half shrouded by a bath towel. "Umm… do you mind?" Spencer asked, offended at her lack of a sense of privacy.

"Hey, consider this payback for looking at me in my underwear. Twice." Bishop smugly responded, eyes still looking him over.

Spencer frowned and gave her a cross look before silently instructing her to turn around with his hand. After slowly complying, Spencer quickly got dressed, clearing his throat to tell her it was safe for her to look.

Bishop frowned and shook her head upon looking at Spencer. "You should lose the jacket. It's a dead give away."

"Why?"

"I'm not dressed in anything Militia branded." Bishop said pointing to herself and her punkish tomboy appearance. "Besides, I stand out. Anyone from the Militia is sure to recognize me, and if you're dressed like IMC… well… let's just say things may not go too well…" Bishop explained.

"I thought we were avoiding the Militia." Spencer said accusingly.

"We are. But better safe than sorry right?" Bishop said rhetorically.

Sighing, the man agreed with her logic and changed his jacket to a monochrome striped hoodie. "Better?" He asked annoyed.

"Much."

Spencer motioned for her to lead the way and she did, taking them from the hotel to the boardwalk, where Spencer recognized a few of the people from the IMS Eden. Spencer silently pointed these people out as he saw them, making sure they carefully, yet subtly avoided them. Soon enough they had made it to their first stop, a rollercoaster. It possessed several drops as well as a loop and a helix in parts of the track. Spencer had never been one for rollercoasters but he wasn't about to wimp out in front of her.

Putting on a brave face he snapped into place next to Bishop who had a wild, excited look in her eye. Soon the coaster was off, both parties screaming, Bishop in excitement and Spencer in fear. Soon, to Spencer's relief, the ride was over. "That. Was. Awesome!" Bishop laughed out giddily. "But we aren't done yet." Bishop said excitedly.

Spencer began to protest the idea of another round on the rollercoaster when she pulled him off to another attraction. It was one of the open-booth outdoor games that were usually at fairs back on Earth. The one Bishop had led him to was a old classic, a bottle toss. After purchasing a game, Bishop handed the hardened, oversized baseball to Spencer, with an expectant look on her face. Spencer looked from her, to the ball then back to her and rolled his eyes with a head shake as he took the ball from her.

"How bout trying to knock them all down in one throw, hotshot." Bishop said teasingly, causing Spencer to sigh and crack the middle of the bottom row of old-fashioned milk bottles.

He turned around with a smug smirk as he felled the structure in one go. Bishop had a surprised cast to her usually smug grin. Picking a orange dragon plushie for Bishop that he had seen her eyeing with a subtle wishful look. Moving to give the toy to Bishop she gave him an incredulous look before shaking her head. "No, you keep it. You won it."

"I picked this out for you. Had your eyes on it." He said attempting to give her the plush.

"I can't just take it. You won it, so you should keep it." Bishop tried rather lamely.

"Well I don't want it. I mean what the hell am I going to do with this?" Spencer said handing the toy back to a very confused stall keeper.

"...Suits me fine." Bishop huffed defiantly, walking away from the booth for Spencer to follow. He shrugged and followed after her until she suddenly turned around and briskly returned to the stall a flush of embarrassment on her face which only deepened as she passed Spencer.

Returning with the plushie covering half her face Spencer only barely contained a laugh but was unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "So you wanted it after all?" He mocked.

"Shut up and let's go." She muttered in angered embarrassment. Silently she began to lead the pair to another large attraction, a haunted house. Spencer walking just a few feet from her when Bishop froze, going ramrod straight. Quickly she turned around and pushed Spencer into a space between stalls. "Shit!" she hissed as a group of people walked by.

Spencer stayed quiet until Bishop spoke. "Those guys were Militia. I think they're gone now…" She said as she looked to Spencer. " Let's just… Get out of here. I don't want to risk running into them again."

Spencer agreed, "Good Idea." He muttered following after Bishop as she maneuvered through the boardwalk and eventually distanced them from the location. Spencer began to speak when he felt rain. Looking up at the darkened, stormy sky he frowned. "Hey, Bishop…" he started.

"I know." She said tersely, it was beginning to storm, it looked bad too, it was most likely going to be a thunderstorm. She began to move at a quickened pace when a voice called out.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Ice Queen Bishop! And it looks like she's got some fuckboy with her!" A cocky voice sneered out. "Who's the unlucky little shit, Bishop?" The man said, causing Spencer to frown.

"He's MCOR Advance Recon." Bishop lied smoothly.

"Oh-ho-ho…! Advance Recon huh?" The man said face inches from Spencer's "He doesn't look MCOR…" The man muttered accusingly. "Besides even if he was MCOR, not that I believe he is, he can't have been doing his job. Looks like you two had fun at the boardwalk, can't be doing any recon there now could you?" He growled.

"Part of my job is to blend in. I've already gathered enough data from my 'fun at the boardwalk' to know you guys wouldn't stand a chance in your next skirmish with the IMC." Spencer all but spat back. "My job is to report all that to my handlers. People like you compromise my mission, people like you are the reason why I'm allowed to use lethal force… If necessary." He went on. "So now, _grunt_. Unless we have an issue you best 180 yourself real quick or you won't be having any issues ever again." He said with a calm smug grin.

The man paled slightly at Spencer's fiery retort and took a step back. "Ah, well you seem to check out. But I'm still not convinced about th-"

"Were my instructions unclear?" Spencer threatened with rising anger.

"Andrew. Just go…" Bishop pleaded quietly.

The man, Andrew, looked to Bishop, then to the rage fueled visage of Spencer before conceding. "Fine… But Vic is going to hear about this." The man said backing off.

Bishop waited until Andrew was gone and then waited again. She turned to Spencer with a proud, thankful look. "Great lying, hotshot." She complimented, before looking at the dark expression he still had on his face. "Woah, you're not actually mad are you?" She asked concerned.

Spencer released a shaky sigh, looked to her, then spoke. "I was ready to break him." He admitted with a half hearted smile.

"Well, he should leave us be for the time being." Bishop said with a slight shiver. "Let's get out of this rain, yeah?" She smiled genuinely.

Spencer smiled back, "Sure." He said following her for a few moments before a thunderous crack was heard. Bishop gasped and whimpered, causing Spencer to catch up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he looked her in the face. "You okay?"

She shrugged off his hand. "Just get me out of here…" She whined, eyes screwed shut.

"Come on, my place is closer." Spencer said taking Bishop by the hand, removing her hand in protest before another strike of lightning sounded off. This caused Bishop to hold on like a child fearing she would lose him if she let go. "Man, thunder sure has you beat, huh?"

"Less talking, more walking." She growled urgently.

It was a short, silent walk back to the hotel that grew consistently more difficult as she flinched and shied from lightning that struck with growing frequency. Soon enough, and much to Bishop's relief they were inside his hotel room. Spencer stepped into the bathroom to removed his soaking clothes.

Stepping back into his room he found Bishop shivering in her underwear in the middle of the room. She looked pitifully to Spencer who walked back into the bathroom returning with another bath towel which she took with gratitude.

"T-thanks…" She said. "How sad is this? Scared of lightning. Soaking wet in my underwear in the bedroom of my enemy." She said in self loathing.

"Here." Spencer said offering her a spare change of his own underwear. "It's clean and dry, beats wet clothes." He offered, she looked at the proffered items then to Spencer who smiled warmly at her.

"Thank you." She said softly with a wan smile. She walked into the bathroom changing clothes before stepping back into the room. Spencer turned to regard her as she stepped back into the room wearing a wife beater and boxer briefs. She smelled the shirt then let out a little sigh. "Smells like you." She remarked.

"Is that a compliment?" Spencer asked looking at her.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, hotshot." Bishop replied, avoiding the question.

Spencer shrugged indifferently, turning the television on in the room. The display flickering on as a local news channel turned on, describing what the news anchor dubbed a "Megastorm". "Looks like this storm is going to be here for awhile…"

Bishop let out an angry, ragged huff at the news. Before gasping as a bolt of lightning struck the lightning rod of the adjacent building, sending a deafening crack through the air. "I-I...I'm going to sleep." She whined, climbing into one of the beds in the room.

Spencer turned the television off and elected to watch the city through the window. The luminescent cascade of lights dancing as water distorted his viewing plane as heavy raindrops streamed down the window. He watched and listened to the heavy, erratic but slightly rhythmic drumbeat of the rain, interlaced with thunderous rapports of electric energy striking the earth. Each bolt of white that would strike the earth would cause a frightened, feminine sound of distress to reply. He watched as she would tighten into a ever shrinking ball with each strike. He felt… bad for her. It was a shame that she was so terrified of lightning, but everyone has their own fears.

Eventually, he retired himself to his own bed laying down to stare out the window, the pale evening light mixing with the lights of the city below to give the room a subtle blue cast that filtered in through the window and open blinds. Spencer closed his eyes for what only seemed like a few minutes before he felt another presence in his bed. Opening his eyes he saw Bishop with her knees pulled up and head in Spencer's chest, arms wrapped around his body. The young pilot stared at her for what felt like eternity, watching and feeling as her grip would tighten and slowly relax between thunder strikes. Eventually she looked up at him. Her eyes red and watery.

"Y-you don't mind? Do you?" She asked with equal parts of desperation and embarrassment in her voice.

"I'm here for you…" Spencer said reassuringly, earning a weak smile from Bishop. Burying her head back in his chest as another bolt of light and sound struck nearby, she began to start the rhythmic rise and fall followed by soft, nearly inaudible crying.

He didn't know why this strange, crass, violent woman was being so vulnerable and trusting right now. But one thing was certain he had formed some sort of relationship with her, some weird, fucked up friendship and she was in anguish. As much as they butted heads he couldn't stand to see her like this. Giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze he held her as she clutched him like a security blanket. "I'm here for you, Bishop." He said softly.

"...Don't let go, Spencer." Bishop sobbed quietly, squeezing him tighter.

"I'm not going to let go, everything will be okay... I'm right here." He comforted her, rubbing small, gentle circles in her back. It was some time before she calmed enough to sleep, letting out cute, soft snores, another contradiction to her self-created image. Eventually sleep came for him as well, lulled to sleep by Bishop's warmth and the soft snores that came from her as well as the sound of rain.

When he finally woke, Bishop was gone, Spencer began to sigh when he noticed her wet clothes still in a pile on the floor where she had taken them off last night. He picked them up and moved them to the bathroom, hanging them on the shower curtain bar for them to dry. After performing his morning routine of face washing and teeth brushing he returned to the bedroom. Bishop walked in as he finished with making the bed. Spencer looked to her as she entered.

Bishop wore an angry, ashamed scowl on her face and spoke. "Last night, didn't happen. Understand?" When Spencer moved to speak she continued, "It was a moment of weakness. I just needed, someone, anyone. It didn't have to be you. And it won't happen again." She reinforced firmly.

Spencer frowned but he had expected her to say that. He elected to not give her a response and continue to work, getting dressed as soon as the room was picked up.

"As soon as my clothes dry I'm leaving." She said, still standing at the doorway.

Spencer moved to the bathroom, finding a courtesy bag big enough to fit her clothes in. Tying the bag and grabbing her prize from yesterday he tossed them at her feet, otherwise disregarding her.

"Did I hit a nerve or something? 'Cause you got your fucking hopes up?" She questioned his cold behavior. "Oh look at me I'm mad now because I'm not special to Bishop." She teased. There was a long pause of silence as Spencer continued to ignore Bishop. Eventually she spoke again. "Hey, do you hear me?" She asked, stomping over to Spencer when he didn't respond. "Fucking say something and stop acting like a little bitch!" She yelled, turning the man around to face her.

Spencer wore a calm expression with enraged eyes. "Leave." He growled.

Bishop paused at his response face dropping for a instant before scowling again. "Ohhhh." She laughed. "You're mad? I knew it, y-"

"Was I not clear?" He reaffirmed. "You obviously don't want to be here, so leave." He warned as he stood up from his task.

"What's your deal?" She almost stammered. "You were all nice and cuddly last night and now you're supposed to be some big tough guy?" She chided.

"You mistake my hospitality for having feelings towards you." He responded, "I couldn't fathom a relationship with a crass, ungrateful, aggressive person such as yourself." Spencer said as Bishop decked him in the jaw.

She glared back at him, with so much anger that she began to tear up. "You're an asshole. You know that?" She said before turning on her heel and storming out of the room, only stopping to collect her things.

Slamming the door as she left Spencer sighed heavily, pent up rage slowly draining from his system to be replaced with pain. A dislocated jaw was not how Spencer saw starting his shore leave would be.


	10. Chapter 10

October 25, 1237 Hours

"LAST MAG!" Spencer yelled out, tossing his empty magazine down to load his remaining ammunition into his R-101C. The Militia had thrown themselves, wave after wave into the IMC forces for quite some time now. Captain North had prematurely ended everyone's shore leave a day and a half ago. The IMS Eden's sensors picking up Militia activity near the vessel. It had turned out to be a good call as early this morning the Militia was throwing everything they had at the Eden. Several hundred grunts had already thrown themselves into certain death and Spencer cursed as yet another wave rushed into them.

Spencer leveled his rifle, unloading the weapon full-auto as he dropped a trio of grunts who added to the mass of corpses at the end of the street. He belted out "Shit!" as the receiver clacked open, internal mechanisms and barrel smoking from use. Before he had a chance to request a magazine from one of his allies a detachment of Spectres escorted a group of grunts into the area.

He watched as the robotic sentinels bounded over corpses and rushed to the barricade the IMC erected in defense of the Eden. Snatching his Hammond P2011 from his chest holster, he popped off seven quick shots into the leading Specter, the machine stumbling a few times before its internal systems locked up and froze as the machine collapsed. He emptied the rest of the magazine into the remainder of the advancing force.

Spencer paled as yet another large group of Militia advanced. "Waaaarrrddd!" We're gonna get overrun!" Spencer began to panic, he had a lot of close brushes with death, but this time it seemed inescapable.

"I...I know! But if we run they'll just shoot us in the back!" Wardd stammered, unholstering his own sidearm. "Just hold them back!"

"We don't got ammo to hold them back!" Gomez cursed.

Spencer ducked behind his Titanium barricade as bullets plunked into it's backside. Saying a silent prayer to whoever was listening he looked up as he saw a group of four Titans approach from the IMS Eden, several pilots rodeoing the machines as they stomped up to the barricade, towering over the fifteen foot barrier. Spencer nearly cried from the greatly appreciated reinforcements.

"Never fear, 5th Cavalry is here!" One of the Titans bellowed over the external speakers. Shortly afterwards the quartet of Titans unleashed 20mm hell as they spewed XO-16 fueled retribution. He watched as the pilots who were rodeoing disembarked to take up positions along the wall, firing down on the advancing forces.

"Omega squad. You are to board the APC, restock and redeploy in Sector 5 Charlie. Enemy Titans are engaging our forces there and our grunts are having a hard time keeping that sector secure." One of the pilots addressed, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to a waiting APC.

"You heard the man. Let's go." Wardd ordered.

"Don't got to tell me twice. Get me the fuck out of here." Gomez commented, hopping down from the barricade. The rest of Omega followed suit shortly boarding the up-armored vehicle.

Once inside the vehicle Spencer threw open a large mesh cage, grabbing handfuls of ammunition. Once his pouches were overstuffed and then some he nodded his head in contentment. His squad was also doing the same, running out of ammunition was the last thing that a person wanted to happen.

"So what's with these tactics?" Miller asked. "Usually the Militia is pretty smart when it comes to combat tactics. They've just been throwing lives away, this isn't a very good plan, even if they have numbers on their side." He mused.

"They're using diversionary tactics." The APC driver yelled back, looking over his shoulder for just a moment as he continued to drive the massive vehicle. "They've been attacking from every possible direction, sending Titans and pilots wherever our defenses seem lacking, they breached one of our defensive lines earlier but a salvo from the Eden stopped that real quick." The driver finished.

"Oh. Okay that's actually a pretty good plan. But they have poor execution." Miller commented.

"That poor execution almost got us killed." Turner responded.

"Yeah, but at what cost?" Miller mused. "Two or three hundred for what? Seven Pilots and a squad of grunts?"

"Enough." Wardd cut in. "They're dead, we aren't. End of discussion. We still have a job to do."

The rest of the ride was rather silent after that. The only sound that persisted was the electric diesel engine of the APC roaring as they barreled down streets and past barricades. "Approaching destination." The driver stated as the vehicle slowed. "DZ is hot, take caution when disembarking." He said as a mechanical whine emitted from the heavy hinges holding the door closed worked their way open. Soon the heavy, bulletproof door clunked down onto the asphalt, acting as a ramp connecting the APC to the world.

Wardd led his squad out of the vehicle into a small area behind a currently besieged barricade. He looked up to a downed Militia Atlas crushing half of the barrier then turned to his squad. "Anti-Titan weapons at the ready. Be ready for anything." He instructed, moving up to the barrier and taking place on the wall.

As Omega squad began to lend fire support another Pilot, a bald man with a fierce set of scars and a shaggy red beard spoke. "You lot our backup?" He asked with a not so subtle Irish accent.

Wardd nodded before speaking again, turning to regard the man before firing a salvo of micro-rockets at an advancing Ogre Titan. "Omega Squad, First Special Operations Group."

"Good. We got a wee bit of a problem." He yelled over the din of combat. "Some blokes are tryin' to flank us, up in the high rises." The man grimaced looking to a war torn building behind him. "Get up there an' feed their arses to em. I'd rather not have some green little men tryin' to do me in."

"On it." Wardd replied, earning a grin from the Irishman.

The man clapped Wardd on the back as he smiled, "Thanks mate."

"Omega! New orders! We're moving out!" Wardd barked, jumping down from the barricade.

"Where to now?" Torrento groaned.

"Stow it, unless you want to get picked off by snipers." Wardd said as he moved from the barricaded streets to a corporate building. "We take the stairs. Sweep each floor as we go."

"Saw a skybridge on maybe the fourth or fifth floor. We should check there." Miller said as they bounded up the steps by twos and threes.

"We should blow it up while we're at it." Fannuchi offered hopefully.

"Negative on that." Wardd shot him down, "Command was very insistent on keeping collateral damage to a minimum."

Fannuchi grumbled but kept to himself.

As they cleared the first three floors without traces of combat, aside from every other surface having bullet holes and pock marks they made their way to the fourth floor. " They really just used blanket fire over here." Turner said lowly.

"Well if you fill every inch of space with bullets then you're bound to hit something right?" Torrento joked.

As the others began to respond Spencer hushed them. "Quiet... you hear that?" He rumbled lowly. The others went dead quiet, the only sounds being muffled staccato reports of gunfire and muffled voices. From eavesdropping it wasn't obvious they were Militia.

"Spencer, take point. Gomez, you and I are going to get his back. Torrento get our six. Miller and Fannuchi get their flanks." Wardd whispered quickly, his squad moving like a well oiled machine, silently falling into place.

"The fuck is Arnett thinking?!" I thought the guy was supposed to be a tactical genius." A Militia soldier ranted animatedly to a trio of other soldiers.

"He is, this will all work out in the end." Another soldier replied.

"How is getting the majority of our guys killed working out in the end?!" He snapped, practically fuming.

"If you ask me, it would of been better to destroy the damn thing instead of trying to fucking steal it." A third, deeper voice spoke up.

"Exactly! Would of been much better." The first voice agreed.

"But think of the resources, intelligence and firepower we would gain if we netted a cruiser." A fourth voice spoke.

"Yeah but look what it has cost us. I don't think it's worth it." The first voice argued.

Spencer looked to Wardd who nodded slightly. Spencer grinned and stood up, speaking over his helmet's external speaker. "Not to mention we would have scuttled the ship long before you stole it." He shrugged as the surprised soldiers all turned to Spencer who opened fire on the four soldiers, quickly being joined by the rest of his Squad.

As they stepped over the bleeding corpses they neared a small cart with a low tech radio sitting atop the wheeled object. "Viper this is Castle Actual, my men are in position, we need you to designate the target zone so we can place the charges. We will be standing by." A voice crackled over the radio. "Viper this is Castle Actual, do you read?" There was a pause as Omega squad looked at the radio. "Viper, please respond." Spencer being the closest answered the radio. "Standby, we may have some positives on hostile contacts." Spencer said in a slightly masked voice.

The voice on the radio sighed then responded. "Affirmative, standing by." He said as the radio snapped off.

"Wardd…" Spencer started before Wardd cut him off.

"Already on it. Gamma Actual this is Omega Actual, you have Militia forces underneath your position in the sewers, be advised of possible hostile threat." Wardd said calmly.

"Thanks, Omega." The Irishman cursed. Saying something to someone in the background before the radio cut off. "Alright one more floor. Let's go." Wardd grunted as he shifted his gear and began to walk.

"Viper, I'm sending some pilots to help you with your situation. They should arrive shortly." Spencer barely heard as they made their way up the stairs.

The fifth floor had most of its west wall blown out, exposing the floor to the city 50 feet below. There was also numerous snipers and ordinance on that floor. Resulting in several very short firefights between pilots and inadequately prepared soldiers.

"Do a quick sweep. I want any explosive ordinance secured and this floor triple checked for hostiles." Wardd demanded as his crew split up.

Spencer checked the exposed roof, taking down the grunt who had the gall to try and play dead. Jumping back down to the fifth floor he saw several metal poles located on the exposed building side, several heavy duty black cables running from building to building. Ziplines. Spencer pointed them out to Wardd who began to give the order to secure them when a loud explosion interrupted him.

Omega squad rushed over to the exposed street to see the road below crack before spewing dust and debris as it expanded outward for a moment just before it crumpled upon itself. "Shit. I think they blew one of the charges…" Spencer commented.

Wardd began to radio the squad below him when the air around him came alive with hot lead. "Shit! Take cover!" He yelled as his squad dove to cover.

Spencer slid to his knees behind an office cubicle before poking his head out to see a pair of pilots laying down suppressing fire as more of their allies moved in from nearby rooftops and ziplines. "They're using the ziplines!" Spencer cried out to hear Wardd respond.

"Then fucking cut them goddammit!"

Spencer cursed then looked to Torrento, "Hey, cover me." He demanded more than asked, earning a nod from the larger man.

Spencer sprinted from his cover, narrowly dodging the few shots that targeted him and dove to a nearby cluster of ziplines. Whipping out his knife he began to cut through the heavy wire that made up the zipline. Hurriedly he cut one wire as he sawed his blade back and forth. With a resounding metallic snap the cable gave way to the blade and fell free from its apparatus, to swing limply between the building. He watched as an unlucky pilot fell from the cable. Turning to begin the next cable he focused on ripping his blade back and forth across the cord when he heard rapid zipping quickly closing in on him. Swinging his head up, he looked to see a pair of boots collide with his chest, knocking Spencer to the ground.

Spencer lay there dazed when he heard a gunshot and a stumbling thud. Shaking his head with a groan he looked to see Fannuchi looking down at him. "You owe me one." He smiled.

"Yeah… Thanks." He grunted as he stood up, grabbing his knife from the floor as he uprighted himself. He looked to the corpse that hit him when the zip of a passing bullet reminded him where he was. Crouching down, he retrieved his rifle where it hung limply by his side, suspended by his sling.

"I'll get the cables. Cover me." Fannuchi said as he hefted a block of C4 plastic explosive in his hand.

"That's a bit much." Spencer commented as he fired off a trio of bullets to keep the enemy's heads down.

"Need to make sure." Fannuchi shrugged as he planted the brick in between a pair of zip line cables. "Besides, when have my explosives ever been wrong?" He grinned toothily.

Spencer sighed, he didn't want to bring up the numerous occasions where his explosions made things worse. Instead he moved over and covered his ears as a plume of fire and death consumed half of the fifth floor. Spencer held a prolonged grunt as the building shook. He opened his eyes when it ceased and began to congratulate Fannuchi when the floor cracked and split rapidly, breaking away before Spencer could react. Falling through not one, but two floors before slamming to a stop. Spencer was caught between rubble, dust and smoke before his world went dark.

Eventually, Spencer came to, sore all over and very confused. "What the hell…" he trailed off looking at everything that was covered in a thick dust, including himself giving everything a dusty concrete gray color. Arching his neck up he looked at the gaping hole in the ceiling above him and the missing half of the building above that. He groaned in equal parts pain and frustration.

With a sigh he turned his attention to the rubble around him, looking for a way out of his current predicament. As he began to pick and weave his way through the rubble sounds of combat began to get louder. Garbled radio transmissions were also beginning to come in over his headset.

"An...dy… cer?" He heard Wardds voice over the COMM. He tried to respond to no avail. Hurriedly he cleared the thick dust covering his helmet and his external radio. Transmissions came in clearer but still had excess background static.

"I think he fell." He heard Gomez report.

"What?!" Wardd asked over gunshots. "Well where the hell is he? How did he fall?"

"My bad." That was Fannuchi. "He's probably buried under some rubble. Sorry about that."

He heard Wardd sigh, causing Spencer to chuckle as he climbed through some large chunks of rubble. The action caused him to almost double over, something moved painfully, causing him to groan into his knees. "Fannuchi. Better hope he's okay. Not only did you disobey orders, your negligence just cost us a man for the moment." He heard Wardd threaten.

"...I said sorry…" Fannuchi muttered.

Placing his hand to his helmet he enabled the long range radio. "Wardd…" he started.

"Spencer?" Wardd responded. "Where are you? What is your status?"

Spencer frowned, the transmission was still garbled, Wardd was difficult to understand. "Wardd. Wardd? Wardd, I'm fine… I think. I'm trying to find a way out of he-" Spencer started before the wind was knocked out of him.

The young pilot struggled as he was pinned down, a knife pressing into his throat guard. Panicking he fired off his jumpkit on full burn, twin gouts of blue-white flame incinerating his assailant. The person released him with a feminine scream standing to quickly pat down any lingering flames and remove her scorched armor. Before she had a chance to adopt a fighting stance Spencer used his jumpkit to propel him into a rising knee. His metal shin and knee armor smashing into the bottom of her jaw.

Dazed, she swung out with her knife only for Spencer to catch and twist the knife out her hand. In a deft flick of the wrist Spencer hand the knife turned around and in the place where the neck met with the mouth. With her final struggles she clutched his wrists only for Spencer to regard her with scorn and yank the handle of the blade up, forcing her head to pitch with the blade. The moment she went slack he released the blade and stepped back.

He looked around to see another grunt slumped against a wall clutching his abdomen, arms covered in blood. "N-no… please." The man begged dazedly, slurring his words from excess blood loss. Spencer sighed but complied. He wasn't about to waste a bullet on a dying man anyways. Instead he crouched down. "How do I get out of here?" He asked calmly.

"G..go fuck yourself… IMC." The man started to laugh before choking on blood.

Spencer frowned and stood up. Delivering a swift boot to the chest, the man yelped out in anguish. As the man fell over Spencer delivered several kicks to the man's stomach, causing him to cry out hysterically. Spencer crouched down to the thrashing man and held out a signal flare. Igniting the bright orange object he held it to the man's stomach whose wails of protest redoubled.

"Pl-Please… stop!... Oh god… h-help me!..." The man cried out.

"Now… How. Do I. Get out of here?" Spencer asked, as he turned the flare in one hand to look at the cascade of orange-red sparks spewing from the cylindrical device.

"Over...o...there." The man cried holding his torched intestines.

Spencer stood up slowly, looking over a long hallway, with several doors leading to what he assumed were offices. "Thanks…" he trailed off, leveling his sidearm to the injured man.

"N-no… please." The man started as Spencer flicked the safety off. "P-PLEA-" The man began before being interrupted by a trio of cracks. Spencer watched as the man held a face of agony then went limp. Rolling his shoulders he moved on dropping the flare on the dead soldier.

As he worked his way down the hall he received a transmission across all channels. "All units, this is Captain North. The First Intersolar Fleet has arrived and are providing assistance to our ground units. All combat assets are to redouble your efforts. Push them back, this battle is almost ours."

He then received another transmission. "Omega, danger close. Some Titans have engaged in front of your building. We have Militia forces on the run, keep at it." He recognized it as the Irishman from earlier, it was good to know he was still looking out for them.

By this time Spencer was at the end of the hall, which fed out into a darkened room. The sounds of explosions and metal crunching against metal were muffled yet prevalent in this room.

"Spencer, this is Wardd. I'm sending Turner down to assist you, he should be there shortly. Militia forces are retreating, our mission is almost complete." Wardd stated.

"Roger." Spencer replied with a short sigh.

As he made his way deeper into the room someone spoke out to him. "Surprised you made it through all that." The voice said he turned to see an orange faceplate and a R-97 Compact SMG. Spencer instinctively reached for his R-101C to find it missing, most likely lost from the fall. He recognized the voice, however and cursed silently.

Raising his Sidearm one-handed to her head he spoke. "End of the line, Bishop." He spoke with a calm that betrayed the boiling rage beneath his voice.

She seemed taken aback, she most likely didn't expect to encounter Spencer. "Well, well. Isn't this a surprise. I run into my favorite little robot." She teased.

"ALL UNITS, ALL UNITS. THIS IS LIEUTENANT COLONEL HAWKE. YOU ARE TO FALL BACK IMMEDIATELY. WE HAVE TAKEN TOO MANY LOSSES. THIS MISSION IS A BOLO, FALL BACK." A voice transmitted over her radio.

"That's a shame… but I guess on the bright side, when my buddies get here we can take you back with us. You know, get you fighting for the right side." Bishop said with a grin in her voice.

Spencer sighed, "We both know that will never happen." He said with firm anger. He sure as hell didn't have any plans of defecting. Same with being caught. He would die before he was tortured too, he wasn't ignorant of what the Militia did to their prisoners.

Bishop however, assumed his anger was for the wrong reason. "Aww are you still mad about the other night?" She asked in a slightly babyish voice.

Her question only served to compound his anger. "No, I wasn't. But thanks for bringing that up." He spoke evenly. "That just makes it easier to do this." He said calmly as he fired a round off into her shoulder.

She spun with the impact, stunned in shock. Moments later she cried out in pain, hand clutching her wounded shoulder. She hissed out a breath before sucking in air as she glared at him still partially shocked. "Y-you shot me…" She stammered. "You actually fucking shot me…" She growled out, hand reaching for her SMG.

Quicker than he expected she snapped the weapon up, putting a short burst into his abdomen. Spencer dove to the side, thankful that his armor managed to block a majority of the hastily aimed projectiles. However, the telltale searing pinpoints had told him he was far from unscathed. Spencer pulled himself behind a collapsed support pillar, groaning in pain and rage.

"I wasn't going to kill you… But now is a different story." Bishop yelled.

"Bish...Bishop. Put your gun down… it's over." Spencer groaned out. "Don't make me put a bullet between your eyes."

Bishop scoffed, barely containing hysterical laughter. "As if you could _ever_ kill me. You've had plenty of chances and never follow through. You won't kill me. You can't kill me!" She screamed just as the wall behind exploded in a hail of concrete dust and thunder.

Spencer cursed to himself over the sound of a short scream from Bishop and an earthshaking rattle followed by a large metallic crunching sound. After a few moments, when the noise had died down and the dust had settled he poked his head back up. What the corporal had seen was something he thought only possible in movies. Bishop was half buried, pinned underneath several chunks of concrete and plaster. The culprit was a downed Militia Stryder. The top half of the machine had crashed into the building, a gaping hole where the cockpit should be. He looked to see an IMC Atlas drop the bloodied, mangled mess of what used to be the cockpit and stomp towards the retreating Militia forces.

Cautiously he moved towards Bishop as injured prey tended to fight harder. Placing a tentative hand where her neck met her head he felt her pulse. He sighed, "Of course she survived that…" He lowered his gun, now that she was dealt with he didn't feel the need to shoot her. As he began to contemplate what to do with her he heard a noise. Whipping around, startled he stared at a sheepish Turner.

"Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you." Turner apologized.

"Stay alert, I managed to get her to tell me that her squad is on the way. Then...this… happened." He explained.

"Got it." Turner said checking the ammunition on his person. "Any idea where from?" He asked as he surveyed the room.

"None."

It was a long while they waited. No one came to get her. No backup, no radio calls, nothing. The corporal sighed as he stretched and scratched the parts of his calves that his fingers could actually reach. With a soft clap he turned to Bishop and checked her pulse again. It was still there but weaker than before. With a sense of urgency he started to remove chunks of rubble from the woman. He grunted with effort whenever one piece was particularly heavy. "Help me." He said with a faint hint of desperation in his voice.

"Why?" Turner asked.

This question was asked by Bishop lots of times, often times Spencer not knowing the answer himself or not wanting to disclose information to the woman. But this was a moment, the first of many where he would have to defend his actions from the IMC's scrutiny. He opted to go with the biggest thing he felt, guilt.

"It just feels wrong to leave her here. Her squad abandoned her, I'm not going to do the same. I don't even want to think about being in a similar situation." He explained.

"They're probably just going to shoot her." Turner said trying to dissuade him.

"Even so. We can't just leave her for dead."

Turner sighed. "Fine."

They worked in silence and walked in silence. Spencer carrying Bishop across his shoulders with her hands and feet tied. It was quite some time before they reached the IMS Eden, but all things considered they had made good time. Turner sighed out in relief and went to his bunk, most likely to shuck off his gear and sleep. Spencer headed to the medical ward with his unconscious companion. After a few blurred moments Spencer found himself asleep in a chair, recovering from the events of the day.

Bishop woke up to several bright lights, causing her to squint her eyes as she stirred. Hearing several gentle thrums of machines she turned her head to see several monitoring machines and a EKG readout, gently beeping her pulse in a happy chirp. She made a confused noise as she attempted to sit up only to hear the clinking of metal on metal, her right arm having very limited movement. Her confusion compounded she looked over to find her arm handcuffed to the rail of a gurney.

The EKG reading started to skyrocket as she silently panicked. Soon her breathing became rapid to accommodate her quickened breathing. As she slowly absorbed her surroundings her pace slowed and returned to normal. Just as she had gotten a grip on her panic her door opened to reveal a doctor and a guard donned in Military Police gear. She stared with intense, apprehensiveness as the doctor neared.

She didn't like the way he peered at her, as if looking through her in a sense. The guard simply rolled his shoulders slightly hands crossed behind his back. There was also motion just outside the slightly ajar door, it was Spencer and two other men, she couldn't quite hear them. The volume at which they spoke unintelligible at this distance. It seemed like a very… heated talk. Spencer seemed animated and kept motioning with his hands. Eventually one of the men responded before the doctor gain her attention.

Quickly snapping their fingers twice, the doctor used one hand to turn her face. He motioned over his shoulder with his head to the door. The guard silently closed the door before standing back in the corner. "Good, you're awake." The doctor started, Bishop simply frowned and jerked her head out of his hand. This caused the doctor to flash a quick frown of his own before continuing.

"Now this must be very confusing for you bu-" The doctor started.

"Not really." Bishop interrupted with a sneer. "I'm on an IMC ship, handcuffed to a bed surrounded by a bunch of IMC fucks."

"Yeah well one of us 'IMC fucks' just saved your arse." The guard spoke with a rough english accent.

The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples with his hand before continuing. " Well, let's just get this over with. You suffered from some minor lacerations as well as internal bleeding, internal and external bruising and multiple hairline fractures. You also suffered from a bullet wound to the shoulder and blood loss due to your aforementioned internal hemorrhaging." The doctor quickly listed off before adding, "Your wounds were only life threatening collectively, normally you would be up and about in a few days but they're probably going to interrogate you as soon as possible… Anyways, I'm done here." The doctor put on a faux smile as he stood, waved and left the room, the guard following shortly behind.

Again, Bishop was alone. The only companion the rhythmic beat of the EKG machine. She sighed, blowing a lock of her half shorn hair from her face. As much as she wanted to think of a way to escape there was no way she could think of that didn't end in a bodybag. She cursed with a sudden influx of anger before letting out a mixed cry of anguish and defeat. The room was again silent, save the ever present beeping.

Bishop looked to the door as it opened to reveal Spencer. She glared at him and stared at him hard as he walked in. She wanted to scream at him, hurt him, lash out. But she also wanted to seek shelter in him, if only for the fact that he was the only familiar slightly agreeable at times face on the ship.

"Sounded like you were dying in here." Spencer commented, offering a weak smile.

Bishop frowned as she regarded the man. A million different thoughts coursed through her mind at the sight of him, none of them pleasant. She scoffed as she looked away from him. "Figures…"

"What?" Spencer asked equal parts confused and angry.

"I figured only one person would of brought me back here." She muttered.

"Hey, I saved your life… again." Spencer defended.

"Why? I want an answer, this time. A real one." She spoke as she turned to hold his gaze.

Spencer sighed silently then looked to her. "I felt guilty if I just left you there. Your squad may have left you for dead, but I wasn't going to. Not if you still had a fighting chance." Spencer replied.

Bishop stared at him before questioning the man. "What do you mean my squad left me for dead?"

"After the wall collapsed on you we waited for your buddies to show up but nothing happened. Nobody came." The young IMC pilot replied.

Bishop felt angry, but she understood their position. If they came and got her they most likely would have died too. Her resignation must of shown because that IMC lapdog spoke up.

"On the bright side at least your still alive."

"Yeah, so they can torture me?" She spat with a heavy coat of venom. "Pry some information from me before they put me down?"

"Well interrogate. We don't really torture… At least, not officially." He replied. "But with some good news, I'm going to be your interrogator. We start first thing in the morning."

She scowled. "I'm not going to tell you anything. You won't gain any information from me." She growled in stark defiance. "And if you think that you being my interrogator was good news. You're real mistaken." Bishop fumed.

She smiled internally when Spencer's expression slipped into a faint deflated, cross look. "Well then. Rest up, you're going to need it." He spoke as he turned to leave.

"Wait. We aren't done yet." She said to the IMC's back. "You shot me." Bishop knew that she had burned bridges with the man every time they formed. That we weren't really friends per say, but she felt they were somewhere in between. She never considered that the man would shoot her, even after all the goading, threats and teasing.

"Yeah. I did." Was all he replied as he left the small hospital room.

Bishop was alone and Spencer had blown her off, again. She frowned and sighed. '_Did I pinch a_ _fucking nerve or something?_' she thought to herself. '_He's been a real asshole lately. If he can't handle being talked to like that then he needs to grow a pair._' She groaned out in frustration before trying to move her hand again. It was starting get uncomfortable and chafe.

With no result other than jingling the metal together she resigned herself to sleep. If that butthurt little robot wanted to wake her up crack of dawn she would play his little game. And she would win. Dimming the lights she chuckled to herself as she went to sleep.

Bishop made a strange strangled yelp as a stun baton was slammed into her abdomen. Effectively winded she struggled to react as the lights were flipped on suddenly, blinding the woman who was uncuffed then roughly stood up. "Rise and shine." Spencer said as he nursed a mug of coffee, a stun baton in his free hand. Looked… bored but there was a wicked cast to his eyes. He was taking pleasure in this.

Bishop coughed as she began to formulate a pained, "What the fuck. What… time is it?" Bishop strained as she saw the digital clock in the room. "It's four in the morning?! Wha… what hell is wrong with you people!?" She managed to belt out.

Spencer simply raised his eyebrows as he took a sip from the mug, and quietly smacked his lips as he set his mug on the nearest surface. He then silently stuck her again in the gut. Bishop was unable to defend herself as another man held her arms back. Bishop simply went slack in his grip. Doubling over as large amounts of spittle and clear viscous fluid flowed from her mouth.

"You will speak when spoken to. Understand?" Spencer said bending his knees so he was head level with Bishop.

When Bishop didn't respond the man holding her up released her to drop to the floor with a slap of flesh on flooring. He then took his boot and ground her head into the mess she made. "He asked you a fuckin question." The man growled.

Bishop cried out and eventually managed to respond under mounting pressure. "Y-Yes. Yes!... I understand." The pressure was gone, a tide of relief washing over her only to be replaced with a mild headache. She was then roughly uprighted and a dark bag was placed over her head as she was led out the room.

She was led down several hallways making so many turns and stops she had no idea where they were going after a few minutes. Eventually however, they stopped. Bishop heard a heavy pneumatic hiss as a door was opened and she was forcefully seated in a large empty room. She grunted from the rough handling but otherwise made no noise. Soon her hands were bound to a metal table and the bag was removed to blinding light. Bishop shied away from the light trying to move her hands as she squinted her eyes. A metallic clanking and a strain on her wrist halted that action as she ground out a frustrated sigh.

"Alright. The more you cooperate the quicker and less painful this will be." Spencer spoke. "Any trouble you give me… the more trouble my friend here is going to make for you." It sounded like he had a cocky grin on his face. "Understand?"

Bishop laughed, "What is this supposed to be, good cop, bad cop?" She managed to get put before a strong crack of a metal baton colliding with her leg. Calling out in pain in a mixture of a grunt and a scream she recoiled in her chair.

"It was a yes or no answer, cunt." The other man growled as a warning.

"It's more of a neutral cop, bad cop situation. But that's not important. Do you understand your position?"

Bishop glared death at the man but nodded her head and hissed out a "Yes…"

"Good." Spencer sipped from around his mug. Bishop then gasped as ice cold water was thrown on her, effectively soaking her. She moved to speak when Spencer beat her to it. "Before you say anything you'll find out about that in just a moment." He said as Bishop shivered from the cold only to hear a rapid crackle of electric energy within the room.

"Now. I only have a few questions for you. The faster you answer them the sooner we can end this." Spencer explained in a tired tone, stifling a yawn.

"Okay, question one. What is the extent of Militia forces on Adaena." Spencer asked seriously.

Bishop scoffed and growled out. "Go fuck yourself, Spenc-" before she screamed out in pain, then clenched her teeth. She twitched and jerked as electricity overrode her nerves, causing involuntary muscle spasms. A few moments later and Bishop was a twitching mess. Between labored breaths and the occasional involuntary shudder as vestiges of electricity flowed through her she choked out, "You son of a…" Before she was shocked again, a high pitched, pained feminine scream worming through her vocal chords.

Spencer watched as the visible arcs of electricity caused shadows to dance and play across the small room. Eventually he held his hand up, signaling for the man to stop. "Three million volts at just under point one three milliamps. Hurts doesn't it?" Spencer said crouching down to look at Bishop. "Now, unless you want to get shocked again, you will answer my question. So. What is the extent of the Militia forces on Adaena?"

Bishop made several deep inhales that sounded like sobbing as her body continued to recoil from the electricity. "W-w… We had t-ten thousand. N-now I'd say we ha-have… less than four thousand. Th-the others would be spread out across the pl-planet." She belabordly replied.

"Good…" Spencer smiled, Bishop had just enough strength and courage to look at him. He had a satisfied smirk on his face with a hint of malice in his eyes. "Now, just a couple more questions and we're done." He offered cheerfully.

Bishop had been beaten, shocked, and burned every time she had tried to be resistant. After one shock had proven especially vicious she had even voided her bladder, forcing her to sit in a puddle of her own urine for a time. They eventually broke her, offering up any information that he requested if only to escape the pain. She was mad at him, the IMC and especially at herself, she had felt like she had betrayed all that she stood for.

Eventually when Spencer had felt she had answered all the questions he needed to ask he dismissed the other individual. Leaving just the two of them. Spencer walked over to the woman slumped over the table, hands still bound. He released her hands and knelt beside her, wiping her face of the fluids that had managed to mar her features. Bishop was still a little disoriented, but responded to his gesture. She looked to him with a glare but that expression melted when she saw the sorry look on his face.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly. Taking care of the smaller wounds he saw.

"Why?" She whispered coarsely. "I would of told you eventually if it was just the two of us…"

Spencer paused and frowned, "I'm sorry… they would never let me interrogate you alone. Besides we have to keep up an image."

Bishop was silent. She didn't know what to say, she didn't have the energy or the fight left in her to speak.

"Hang on. I'll get a medical team to help you out." He said as he left the room and Bishop lapsed into unconsciousness.

It had been weeks, Bishop woke up in another hospital room. She was still handcuffed to the bed and looked at the Doctor in the room. "None of your wounds were permanent and you seem to be making good recovery. You have some minor nerve damage but that can be improved with proper therapy." The doctor said happily. "You've been cleared for release." The doctor said leaving the room.

"Release to rot away in a cell… great." She sighed. She was alone for a few minutes before a knock on the door gained her attention. The door opened to reveal Spencer and two MPs.

She looked to him then the package in his hand. He stood silently as one of the MPs, a woman. In her late twenties uncuffed her. Bishop reflexively soothed her wrist as Spencer stepped forward. He tossed her the package.

"What is this? She asked as she opened it.

"Welcome to Omega Squad. I'm your handler."


	11. Chapter 11

November 17, 0856 Hours

There was a thump and a thud as the heavy vehicle jostled over uneven terrain, traveling down an unpaved road. They had set out at 0600 to a town a few miles from Anbul. The IMC had chased the fleeing Militia forces out there after their attack on the IMS Eden. Resulting skirmishes in the surrounding areas had left a handful of innocents dead and millions of credits worth of damage, not to mention a few city blocks that were practically leveled as a result of the fighting. Several hundred civilians were now living in impoverished conditions because of this. As a response the IMC had started running several relief operations. Cleaning up and helping rebuild Anbul as well as helping civilians in the surrounding area with security, food and temporary lodging where required. Omega Squad had been sent, undercover, to help with securing supplies for several small towns, as well as shadow the grunts there to make sure they were following mandated orders and to provide additional fire support, should they need it.

Maybe undercover was the wrong word. They all wore winter gear, sans the extra armor of a pilot. They also wore grunt fatigues and several beanies, tactical snow goggles with integrated Heads Up Display perched on their heads. Spencer felt warm and secure but also vulnerable without his extra armor. Next to him sat Bishop to his right, closest to the door. The rest of the crew either checked their own gear or talked to each other. Spencer yawned, it had been quite uneventful so far, he wanted to crawl back in bed. He looked to Bishop and began to speak when she beat him to it.

"Don't talk to me." She muttered with terse uninterest, fiddling with a loaded magazine. She hadn't looked up. Spencer was surprised, she had large headphones on, a pair she won from Spencer in a bet. She was listening to music, the heavy, rapid tones a faint whisper as they bled through the headphones.

Spencer frowned but didn't comment, causing Bishop to look at him before she returned to busying herself. She had been difficult to say the least, doing the bare minimum all the time, often seconds from getting severely reprimanded. At which point Spencer would have to intervene. It had been frustrating, he had hoped she would of been more cooperative. He digressed, her behavior was to be expected. She had been pretty anti-IMC, he couldn't feasibly expect her to change on a dime.

"Alright, we're almost there. We are going to each receive a large relief package and then we will split into groups of two and distribute these supplies." Wardd spoke loudly, over the sound of the engine. "If they have any inquiries or requests you are to direct them to the nearest aid center. Are we clear?" He asked.

"Yes sir!" Omega responded, sans Bishop who gave an uninterested, "Yep."

Moments later the armored vehicle lurched to a stop, brakes whining as they ceased the twelve ton vehicle's weight. Soon the doors were released, a rumbling metallic hum vibrating through the vehicle as the rear door was lowered, allowing Omega to disembarked.

Bishop made a surprisingly feminine sound as she stretched. She then looked around the city plaza that served as an IMC Forward Operating Base. "Why is it so fucking cold?" She complained to no one in particular.

"Get used to it." Spencer commented as he walked past her. "Keep up." He yelled back as she stood there with a scowl affixed to her face.

"Remember, our call-sign for the time being is 'Phantom'." Wardd said as he checked into a security checkpoint in the heart of the plaza.

"Name and designation." One man spoke in an assertive voice that was somehow aggressive yet bored.

"Phantom Squad, First Division Infantry." Wardd stated.

"Alright… And your orders?" The man spoke, checking faces to a database he had on a computer at the checkpoint.

"We are to assist with supply redistribution." He replied.

"Alright, you check out… you'll find your supplies in an orange tent marked 'aid'. Hard to miss it."

Wardd nodded and walked his team for about three minutes until they reached an aid tent. Outside, a trio of pilots sat around lazing about. Upon their approach one of the pilots laughed. "More bodies to throw into the grinder when shit hits the fan."

Spencer frowned but otherwise ignored them. That was until one of the pilots let out a vulgar whistle. "Look at the body on her…" One of the pilots said, blatantly ogling the woman. "You can ride my Titan anytime." He laughed at the crude innuendo.

Bishop scoffed. "As if a limp dick asshole like you, who has to overcompensate by bragging, could possibly satisfy any woman." She spat venomously.

The man simply laughed off her insult. "Oh ho ho. I like girls with attitude. I'd have to hide that mangled face with a bag, but otherwise we're good to go."

Bishop clenched her fist and growled, preparing to verbally and perhaps physically destroy the man when Spencer interrupted. "Is there a problem, Bishop?"

"This don't involve you, chump." The pilot growled. "Back off before I have to demonstrate my combat experience for this girl here.

"Please." Spencer laughed. These guys were 2nd Division Engineer Corps. The little combat they did get was usually handled by Special Operation Groups and Infantry Divisions. "You pricks wouldn't know combat experience if it shot you in the ass." He said tauntingly.

"Spencer, that's enough. They aren't worth it." Wardd said, placing a calming hand on his shoulder.

Spencer huffed but complied. "Good thing your XO is here, because I would've fucked your shit up." The pilot sneered toothily.

"Unless you want to be in the frontlines in your underwear by the end of today I suggest you apologize and get back to your posts." Wardd warned.

"And who the fuck are you?" The pilot turned his arrogance on Wardd, frowning.

"Lieutenant Wardd. Give me your serial numbers. Your XO's will be hearing about this." Wardd demanded, snatching the spare dogtags from around their necks. The pilots paled, stuttering over trying to apologize before Wardd briskly turned and entered the tent.

Finding an African-American man in his late thirties Wardd cleared his throat angrily. "Those your men outside, Sergeant?" He interrogated, handing the dogtags to the African-American man.

"Yes, why? What did they do this time?" The man responded.

"Now, you can discipline them yourself, or I have command redeploy your entire unit. Your choice." Wardd threatened. The other man sighed heavily and cursed, his face twisted in anger.

Turning to two pilots who were counting stock he spoke. "Williams, De'Rosa. Go teach those three some fucking manners." The man barked. This earned a wicked grin from one of them who punched into an open palm. "Remember, nothing permanent, no broken bones either." He tacked on before returning to Wardd, giving a short sigh. "Thank you… Lieutenant, I'll see to it that they are punished accordingly." He spoke tensely before walking outside the tent where shouting was heard.

That just left two other pilots in the tent. "You Phantom squad?" One of them spoke, not looking up from his task.

"Yes we're here to distrib-" Wardd began.

"Table Seven. Sorry about the abruptness, but we have about three thousand more boxes to sort through today. I hope you understand." He muttered, preoccupied.

"Absolutely, good luck." Wardd replied. Turning to the table were eight identical silver packages. Each one was four feet long, two feet wide and two feet tall. Each being filled with packages of food and other essential supplies. "Everyone kit up. Then radio check." Wardd instructed. With grunts of effort the squad managed to don the storage containers, securing them to their backs. Shortly afterwards as per Wardd's instructions they had linked to a master channel and then branched off into their own private groups.

"Oh, I forgot to mention. Should they have questions, let them know there is contact information in the package. Also let them know that each household gets one container for every four people and the supplies are to last for three days. By then their next shipment should arrive. At least until we figure something permanent out." The pilot finally looked up from his work. Stifling a yawn, he had bags under his eyes, evidence of prolonged late-night shifts.

"Why is the IMC so repetitive?" Bishop whined under her breath.

"That way there is no excuse for not following orders." Spencer commented with a smile in his voice.

She grumbled but refrained from responding. She looked to the man and motioned for him to lead the way when he shook his head and mirrored her action. Frowning she sighed in irritation and marched off. Spencer tried to talk to her only for her to ignore him, continuing to walk.

"Unless you want to walk for the next ten miles I would get on the transport." Spencer finally called out loud enough to get her attention. She halted, grumbled and turned venom in her expression as she stomped back over to Spencer, boarding a flatbed truck full of cargo crates and containers.

Spencer climbed into the back with a bit of effort as the large, heavy pack on his back weighed him down and made his movements awkward. After climbing into the back, in a small clearing of the packages he turned to help Bishop up. Offering a hand which she batted away with a scowl. Spencer sighed and withdrew his hand, sitting down on one of the smaller crates in the back that looked sturdy enough to hold his weight.

"I can help myself." Bishop grumbled as she climbed into the back as well, sitting across from Spencer. She shot him another glare as he scratched the stubble under his chin.

"Why are you so pissed off?" He asked, still occupied with reliving his itch. "I thought you wanted to help people."

"Yeah, when the Militia is the one who's helping." She sighed.

"Hey, the Militia started it. If they never attacked the Eden or fled into the surrounding areas none of this would have happened." Spencer shrugged.

"Don't act like the IMC is the good guy here." Bishop snapped as the vehicle lurched off.

"Hey, all I'm sayin is I don't see the the Militia running any relief efforts. I don't think I've ever seen the Militia run any relief efforts." Spencer commented, looking over the edge of the truck, watching the scenery go by.

Bishop grumbled, he was right that the Militia wasn't helping, but they did good in their own way. "Yeah but when does the IMC ever do anything for free?"

"It's not for free. You must not be paying attention to the news. The IMC took the blame for this chain of events and is using these relief efforts to ease the burden and sort of pay back those affected." Spencer intoned, returning his attention to Bishop. She frowned, like she usually does, but she stayed silent. Simply frowning and looking slightly disappointed before turning to look at the trees and snow spattered hills pass by.

It was another few minutes before the truck made a stop and Spencer stood up, prompting Bishop to follow. As they disembarked, Spencer hit the side of the truck twice, signaling the driver that he could take off. The truck answered in kind by peeling out for a brief moment on snow as the tires worked their traction back up. He watched it chug its way down the street and up a slight incline as it rounded a corner.

Bishop sighed in frustration, "Now what?" She sunk lower into her cold weather gear as she commented, "I'm freezing my ass off…"

Spencer groaned, he wanted to yell at her, all she was doing was complaining. More than she usually did. "We get started with the task we were given. I'll take the right side of the street, you take the left." He said as he began marching off. He turned to look at Bishop, making sure she was following his instructions.

She frowned, then suddenly perked up. "Sure thing, boss!" She cheered in feigned enthusiasm, giving an exaggerated salute.

Spencer chuckled at her sarcastic outburst and the goofy, exaggerated movements she made. Shaking his head with a grin he turned and began to deliver supplies door to door.

Much of his time was spent introducing himself and handing over supplies, getting signatures to confirm that supplies were delivered. To his surprise, not many people had questions, some parents shielded their children, others came to the door with weapons at their side, wary of his purpose.

It was to be expected of course. The IMC and Militia had recently exchanged blows in the area, they had a right to be wary. Several buildings had been damaged. There was also extensive looting going on in areas that were directly affected. The denizens of the area had found their cozy little life endangered by foreign forces. One a money grubbing monopolistic corporation, the other a ragtag group of misguided idealists and seasoned criminals. Both had less than ideal members within their ranks, something many of the residents of the frontier knew all too well.

Still, he considered his little run to be successful. His pack was also feeling lighter, if only by a few pounds, but still welcome none the less. He readjusted the pack with a grunt of effort, his cargo still had quite the weight and was not sitting too comfortably upon his back. A few strap adjustments and he was satisfied with what he could achieve. Not comfortable, but bearable. He took a moment to radio Bishop, in order to check her progress. "How are things?"

"You don't have to check up on me. I'm not a child." Bishop muttered tiredly.

"Alright. Well let's meet up. I've just finished my section. We should take a short break before we hit the next areas." He suggested. He tried to sound as upbeat as possible with her, he was tired and he knew she most likely was too.

There was a pause before a short' "Fine."

"Meet you at the fountain." He radioed as he shuffled his way through the light layer of snow on the ground, towards a large classically styled water fountain.

It was a few moments before Bishop arrived, all but slamming hit kit down as she shrugged it off with a grunt. She glanced to Spencer with a slight scowl before plopping down a few feet from him. Silently the pair began to eat, Spencer primarily drinking from his canteen as Bishop worked on preparing a ration kit.

As she opened her ration, mixing the various components in the self heating bag she glanced to Spencer who had half a candy bar in his mouth. Smiling sheepishly around the bar he swallowed a rather large chunk and pulled a spare bar from one of the cargo pockets on his leg. Offering the bar he looked to her. "Want one?"

Snatching the proffered item she muttered a quick thanks before diving back into her food. Wolfing down the food in rapid strokes of silverware she crumpled the packaging in her hand, slotting the ball of trash in a garbage receptacle not too far from where they were sitting.

"This is… nice." Spencer grunted off handedly.

"What?" Bishop asked with a confused scowl.

"You know… helping people." Spencer started awkwardly. "...Instead of fighting." He stated, head reclined back as he gave his weight to his outstretched arms. He looked over to her, moving his eyes to the right of him as he continued to lean back.

"Oh. Yeah. That." She sighed, her mood visibly softening. He face no longer a scowl but a more discontent mask she continued to speak. "It's nice to be helping people. It's great, really."

"You don't sound too happy." The corporal pried, correcting his posture so he was now sitting upright.

Bishop looked to him and grimaced before she sighed exasperatedly. "It's just… I never would've expected the IMC to be the ones helping like this." Bishop muttered. "Call me delusional, but I always pictured the Militia to be the ones helping people." Bishop chuckled dryly, earning a wry smile from Spencer.

"Well." Spencer groaned as he stood up with a stretch. "We still have more packages to deliver." Looking to the nearby pack, still two-thirds full he frowns. "A lot more… packages." The young pilot huffed with dreaded anticipation. Lifting the pack with effort, he slung the weight onto his back before securing the cargo with a grunt. "Come on. We have to go a bit up the mountain."

"Seriously?" She deadpanned.

"Yes. If we hurry we can make it there in the next thirty minutes or so." Spencer offered.

Bishop paled at the prospect of walking that far and that long with the heavy weight. "W-why can't we ride with them?!" She pointed to an IMC cargo truck, briskly walking over to them, motioning for the corporal to follow.

Rolling his eyes, he followed with a grumble. While he normally wouldn't allow her to entertain the thought he had no intention of walking. He followed behind her at arm's length until he was able to see into the cabin. Two bruised Pilots sat conversing with each other. Noticing the pair from earlier he quickly stopped Bishop with a hand on her shoulder.

She stopped with a frustrated groan, turning to snap, "What?!" Spencer shook his head and spoke.

"They look familiar?"He jerked his head towards the cab, directing Bishop's attention.

She tensed ever so slightly, her brow screwing into a scalding gaze. She held this expression for a brief moment before explosively sighing. "For fucks sake. Did it have to be them?" She hissed rhetorically. She shrugged out of Spencer's grip as she ground out, "Let's go." Equal parts angry and tired, blanching at the fact that she now had to climb the mountain side.

The walk was tiring. The incline was just steep enough that it was strenuous but shallow enough to traverse without any serious effort. Several inches of fresh snow was the breaking point for the two soldiers however, covering their boots and slowing their progress considerably. Looking beside him he motioned to Bishop. "Want to take a break?" He huffed, tired from the slow but constant exertion.

Bishop swallowed before responding with a similarly tired, "No." Taking a deep breath before adding. "We're almost there. We can rest when we get there."

Spencer mock whimpered, earning a smile and a chuckle from the brash woman. "Come on. If I can do it. So can you." She encouraged.

It was a few more minutes before they crested the incline, the land leveling back out. As the duo walked through a sparse wooded outcropping that bordered the main road they stopped to sit on a fallen tree.

"Thank god!..." He nearly sang as he dropped his weight onto the log.

Bishop smiled and spoke. "What happened to the energetic pilot that I'm stuck with?" She joked, but he could hear the relief in her voice as well.

"He died back on the slope." Spencer responded with a tired tone.

Bishop laughed, although tired, her voice struck several delicate, feminine notes as she displayed a rare emotion. Spencer paused and smiled as Bishop stared ahead of herself, towards the city. "Yeah, I think part of me died back there too…" She said as her tomboyish personality came back.

Soon the two were eating again. Silently regaining their spent energy. Spencer had another candy bar with his food, whilst Bishop downed another ration kit along with the rest of her canteen.

"Just like last time?" She suggested as she cleared her throat.

Spencer did the same. "Yeah. We both work different sides until we meet up on…" He trailed off pulling his goggles down to access the local map. "Looks like… Carnell Street is the middle of this area. We meet up there and finish our rounds."

"Gotcha." She grunted, standing with the heavy pack and dusting the front of her hydrophobic fatigues.

Spencer watched her go, stumbling through the wooded snow before crossing the wide, main street. He too stood with a sigh, then followed his female companion's lead. He stumbled over concealed undergrowth and worked his way through the thicket of trees and shrubs. Soon he was clear of the flocked evergreens and was standing on a slightly taller pile of snow that covered where he expected the sidewalk to be.

He moved across the wide street, four furrows in perfect parallel marked the road where traffic had flowed. Soon he was at the junction of two street and with a quick check of his map and delivery manifest he set to work. Door to door, delivering package after package.

Hours later and both Spencer and Bishop had delivered all but one package. Approaching the house together, they maneuvered past a trio of children playing in the snow in front of the last house they were designated to visit. Waving Bishop over as she approached from the east, she smiled as kids rushed past her, playing in the snow.

As the two approached the door a kid rushed up behind the two. "Whoa!" He animatedly exclaimed, "Are you two soldiers?!"

Spencer paused, a fraction of an inch from ringing the doorbell. He turned with a smile. "Yeah. Me and my friend here are delivering supplies because of the fighting out here." Spencer explained to the wide eyed kid.

"Hey this is my house. You're delivering to my house?" He asked still excited to see two soldiers up close.

"Yep. But we need your parents to get the package from us." Bishop smiled to the boy, kneeling down until she was eye level with the child.

"Alright. I'll go get them! I'll be right back, don't go anywhere!" The little boy gushed rushing into the house crying for his parents at the top of his lungs.

Soon the boy returned, huffing as he tried to replace the oxygen he wasted on simultaneously running and yelling. "I'm gonna get my friends, they're gonna flip when they see you!" The child beamed before leaping off his front porch.

Shortly followed by a voice calling out to the two as it neared the front door. "Hello? Thomas said there was someone at the door." A female voice called as the front door was opened all the way to reveal a woman in her forties with brown hair. Her smile lapsed into concern as she saw the two armed IMC Contractors at her door. "Ah, the IMC… is there a problem?"

"No ma'am, were just delivering relief packages in the area." Bishop explained disarmingly.

"Relief packages? We don't need any Relief packages. We're doing just fine." The woman dissuaded, offering a polite smile. The kind you gave annoying door to door salesmen.

"If that's the case we'll take that of your hands." A voice yelled out from behind the two. Spencer turned to see two men. One of them was holding the boy, Thomas in an uncomfortable grip if they way the boy was struggling was any indicator. Spencer glared and moved to radio for support when one of the two men yelled out.

"You touch that radio and this kid drops like a rock." The man warned shoving a RE-45 Autopistol into Thomas' back. Spencer tensed, growled with rising anger and complied. Earning a chuckle that turned into an uproar of laughter as the man's face split into a grin. "Now that's what I like to see. Someone who can follow orders."

"L-Let my son go. Let Thomas go! Wh-" The woman cried out only to be silenced.

"Shut up, bitch! You want you son to live?" Asked the man who held the boy. When Thomas' mother didn't respond the man grew enraged. "I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION!" He asked face flushed red, as he dug the weapon further into the child's back. When the woman responded with a nod he grinned. At this point the other children in the street we're staring and pointing. Spencer frowned, there was no way a firefight could break out without the risk of hitting a child. "Good, now grab that package, sign for it then bring it over here. Or I swear to god I will end this fucking shit-stain of a kid right here." The man threatened. Causing the woman to comply, albeit shakily to his command.

Taking the box with trembling hand and writing a scratchy signature, she stripped the supply sheet off of the. Box before desperately thrusting it to Spencer. Brushing past the two IMC pilots to deliver the box.

Throughout the entire event Bishop had stood still, trembling with wide eyes in anger and disbelief. It didn't take the olive green jackets and cargo pants to identify these two as Militia. But their actions seemed despicable, especially to Bishop who had nothing but good things to speak of the Militia. "What the hell are you two doing?! Why?!" She struggled to ask in a coherent manner, strong emotions clearly warring inside of her.

"Why?" The man asked looking back to his partner who held the kid in a death grip. "Because we're fucking hungry you stupid cunt." The man growled.

"So you treat these people like shit?" Bishop fumed. "Aren't you the guys who are supposedly here to help the citizens of the frontier?" She asked her rage giving way to angry, yet sad tears.

"Wow. You are one naive bitch, you know that?" The man laughed. "We don't give a shit about these people. Besides they support the IMC, taking their handouts like good little sheeple." The man explained.

"If you're not with us, you're against us." The other man coincided.

"Anyways we got what we came for." The man huffed.

"You think we're going to let you get away?" Spencer said reaching for his R-101C.

"No. But who's it gonna be IMC? Us or the kid?" The man grinned as a shot rang out.

Bishop locked up wide eyed as Thomas cried out, crumpling into the ground as crimson pooled in his jacket before bleeding out the front and back. Spencer cursed as the two Militiamen took off in a full sprint. Using the sudden chaos to weave between the children and various parked vehicles until they were out of sight.

The young pilot dropped his rifle as the mother rushed past him and began to cradle her child. Spencer sprang into action as Bishop stared on in shock. "Ma'am." Spencer called as he knelt down, already fumbling for his personal first aid kit.

The mother simply cried out incoherently, babbling gibberish between ragged, panicked huffs. This combined with Thomas' slowly fading cries of agony made his job harder. Still he persisted, continuously calling out to the consoling woman. "Ma'am. Ma'am." He placed a hand on her shoulder which seemed to shake her of her trance enough for Spencer to instruct her. "I can help your son but you need to call emergency services right now." He said with calm authority. The woman paused, reluctant to release her injured child. "Ma'am we may not have much time. Please do as instructed." He said firmly.

Tearing open a pack of gauze he called to Bishop. "Bishop. Bishop… BISHOP!" Snapping her out of her daze. "Help me. Please." He asked, urgency in his voice. She nodded, flustered. As she knelt down beside him he began to instruct her. " I need you to calm him down. Talk to him. This is going to be difficult, I need him to stay as calm as possible." His voice cracked with nervousness but other than that he was calm.

"Thomas. Thomas, hey buddy, can you hear me?" Bishop asked in a strained voice. This earned a pained look to Bishop. "Good, we are going to help you but you need to be strong. Okay?" She continued. " Can you do that for me?" She asked as Thomas continued to wail away as Spencer worked to free him of his jacket. "I need you to nod your head if you can do that for me." She trembled, a near emotional wreck.

The corporal pulled out another package, this one of cotton swabs as he began to dab up the blood that continued to flow from the boy. As he did this the mother returned. "Did you call them?" Spencer asked.

She stared on concerned before stuttering i. The affirmative, eyes puffy and red.

"Good. I need you to do two more things for me. First, I need you to clear a table off in your house, next I need you to bring us something to carry your son in." He instructed with as much gentle authority as he could muster as stressful as the situation was. "Please hurry."

She dashed off again into her house as Bishop continued to sooth the boy. It was less than a minute before the woman returned with a camping cot.

"Good. This is great. Bishop, Ma'am, I need you to help me lift Thomas onto the cot." He explained.

"O-on three. Okay, Spencer?" Bishop asked.

"Y-yeah."

"One… two… three!" She counted down, lifting as gently as possible as they placed the dying child onto the cot. As they did so Spencer took the time to radio in to the IMC command in the area.

"Kingfish, this is Phantom 5-1. We have had contact with Militia forces in Sierra-7. We have a civilian wounded, request immediate support in this area. Over." Spencer hadn't even released the transmitter when a response blared back over light static.

"Affirmative. Units have been tasked to your area. Standby as Romeo Lima-3. Over."

As they entered the woman's home she directed them to the makeshift surgery table she had cleared off. Transferring Thomas from the now blood soaked cot to the table was no easy task, given his thrashing. Eventually the boy was placed upon the table top and Spencer directed the two again. "Ma'am, I need you to get some peroxide." He instructed. She steeled herself as she knew what it was going to be used for but complied either way. She rushed back moments later as Spencer wordlessly commanded the two to restrain Thomas. Quickly he soaked a cotton swab, the smell of peroxide proliferating the air as he then dabbed the nickel sized hole on the boy's back.

Thomas struggled relentlessly, voice becoming a screeching wail before his vocal chords failed him. Spencer then repeated the process on his stomach, where the bullet had left him. They then got to work wrapping his abdomen tightly in gauze, to try and stem the exodus of his vital fluids.

Eventually the paramedics arrived and took the boy and his mother off. The two watched the vehicle wail down the street as a pair of Goblin dropships screamed overhead.

The two were silent, watching the sun crest the horizon in the distance. The wind began to pick up as night began it's slow creeping embrace on the mountaintop. Sighing quite heavily, Spencer stood before offering a hand to Bishop. " Come on. Let's get back." He softly muttered. "We'll cut through the woods."

She remained quiet for some time. The only sound the sound of snow crunching under foot and the listing calls of the local avian wildlife. Eventually, as night fell and the pair made camp for the night, Bishop spoke. "I can't believe they did that…" She muttered. "They… T-they fucking… _shot_ that kid." Bishop trembled as her voice began to sharpen with anger. " What happened to helping the frontier? We're supposed to be saving it's citizens, not extorting it citizens then trying to fucking off them!" She growled, nearly a ferocious scream than coherent vocalization. This caused Spencer to look at Bishop as he tried to start a campfire.

"Well that's what you get when you dress a bunch of monsters up as 'freedom fighters' or whatever the fuck you Militia call yourselves." He sighed offhandedly.

Bishop then turned her anger on Spencer. "You calling me a monster?" She furrowed, stomping to loom over Spencer.

"What?" He said incredulously. "They just shot a fucking kid. Over some food. That's some pretty fucked up monstrous sh-" Spencer began as he defended his view.

Bishop delivered as swift boot to his abdomen, catching him off guard. "You can climb down by yourself." She muttered, stomping off as Spencer dry heaved into the meager pile of wood he collected. As his lungs clawed for breath his diaphragm would not provide he groggily righted himself, body heavy from sudden fatigue. "Argh… What the fuck…" He growled between pained gasps of air. He stumbled off after Bishop, following her footprints like a breadcrumb trail back to her. The moonlight was strong, bathing the forest in a pale blue sheen, casting strong shadows that lead Spencer through the woods.

He made quick progress, Bishop didn't really know the safe way down the mountain, especially since they had veered off the beaten path. The mountain had several steep drops, and while he was angry, and sure Bishop would be fine. He couldn't help but worry, not to mention the woman had proven to make irrational decisions when aggravated.

Picking up his pace he forged ahead at a light jog, catching glimpses of the woman through the trees before finally coming into sight of the woman. He called to her only for her to spin on her heels. "The fuck you want?" She fumed, backpedaling. "Here to make fun of the monster some more!?" She barked.

"No. Listen… I'm sorry. Can we just talk about this?" He tried.

"No. I'm fucking done talking." She snapped as she spun back around in frustration.

That's when Spencer noticed the thinning treeline and the soft snow give way to hard packed ice and rock, before giving way to a sheer cliff.

"B...Bishop!" He called out in a warning.

She spun again, this continuing to back pedal. "I thought I told you to FUCK OFF!"

Spencer dashed forward, just as Bishop stepped onto nothing. Moving as fast as possible he called to her, a warning about the cliff. But gravity was faster.


	12. Chapter 12

November 17, 2103 Hours

Spencer screamed in pain as his right arm was nearly ripped from its socket, ligaments on fire. His other hand was furiously jammed into a rocky crag, held in a death grip as his legs splayed out behind him. Below him Bishop screamed, swinging from her left arm as she dangled sixty feet from the ground below. Spencer cursed and strained as he struggled to pull Bishop up without his arm giving out. Her screams petered out with a whimper as she swung her right arm to clasp his forearm.

"D-don't let go…" Bishop whined, sparing a look down before tensing up and strengthening her hold. "I-I… I'm sorry, okay? I-I said some things… I-"

"Bishop. Shut up." He strained, mustering his upper body strength to pull what he estimated to be two hundred pounds closer to himself with one hand. For every inch he gained he felt his grip slacken as the strength drained from his over exerted body. Sweat poured from him in waves in time with every strenuous contraction of his muscles. Inching Bishop closer and closer to the ledge where she would be able to be hauled up.

There were several points where he had almost dropped her, his grip almost giving out as his muscles tried to forcibly slacken. He cursed from the burn snd stain, his skin visibly steaming as excess heat continued to pour off of him. With several blabbering cries Bishop continued to whimper and whine between frightened sobs.

Part of him wanted to know why she wouldnt just plant her boots against the cliff face and try to walk up the sheer edge. However, he quickly quelled that line of thought. Most people in near-death situations were often subject to very raw forms of emotion, where cognitive thought tended to not exist. It often reduced people to animalistic, blabbering shells of their former selves.

And blabber she did. Spencer had to fight the growing irritation of her incoherent cries. Even as he pulled her high enough to see the top of her head over the terrain's edge. Spurred on by the visual encouragement of progress he put even more effort into hauling her up unto the ledge. A feat most would consider superhuman. Just as when something was closer to death it suddenly became stronger, more acute, faster more resilient. Whilst the corporal's own life wasn't in danger he was sharing the situation and found his own body in overdrive, where as Bishop just cried and screamed.

Miraculously, he was able to pull himself up onto his knees, clutching her arm with both hands. A strained whine and a lean back he was able to pull her up enough to grab her belt and haul her onto the ledge.

Spencer sat there on his knees silently, huffing as he tried to alleviate the full body burn he was currently experiencing. Bishop, on the other hand trembled ever so slightly as she clutched Spencer as if letting him go would throw her over the edge again. Spencer couldn't see her doing so, but the gentle, soft sobs the came from the crux of his shoulder told him enough of her mental state. He sat there in his own kind of shock. Had he been a few moments slower she would have most certainly have been dead.

He looked down to her, face a blank mask. He was too tired, too exhausted, both mentally and physically to give an expression. Instead of speaking he simply put an arm around her, pulling her as close as his tired body would let him. It was a long time before they would move, even longer still before they would speak. Spencer led them down in silence, Bishop often times walking beside him or just behind. Eventually as they reached the makeshift base they had left from earlier that day Bishop finally spoke, her voice a hollow shell of her normal personality. "...Thank you…" She looked to him with a weary, but thankful expression as she boarded an awaiting Goblin that would take them back to the Eden.

November 18, 1923 Hours

"Viper 2-7 for Alpha Sierra. Vector 6 by 6-6... Rolling… Standby."

Omega squad and several other pilots and grunts rushed under a hail of gunfire as a pair of IMC Phantoms screamed overhead. The ships dropped several missiles, each streaking to their own targets before blossoming into a thunderous cloud of fire and dust.

"Splash, splash, splash. Positive effect in Sector 6-3-6." One of the pilots rumbled as the ships arced upwards into the heavens, disappearing into one of the thick clouds in the sky. The blurry distortion of the afterburners the only evidence that the ships had been there in the first place.

"Golf Romeo, zoomy."

The machine gun fire died down momentarily, allowing the forces to unabatedly advance. When the defensive fire did resume it was much weaker. As the footsoldiers neared their objective, Captain North transmitted a message across all channels. "Attention all forces, this is Captain North. We have reinforcements from the First Intersolar Fleet. Let show them the strength of the Frontier IMC! You have your objectives; make me proud." Captain North rumbled as the COMs fell silent. That silence was short lived however when Wardd crackled over his team's channel.

"Everyone has free reign on this op. Do what you please but get the job done. Help out your squadmates if you see them in trouble, stay safe out there." Wardd finished as he fired his kit to initiate a wall run. His right thruster angled down at full burn as he navigated a long alleyway before leaping into a window of a building. Moments later gunshots could be heard as a group of IMC grunts moved into the lower floor to support Wardd.

Bishop watched as Omega squad split up either choosing to stick with a wingman or spearhead an assault for various squads of grunts to follow in their destructive wake. She watched as Spencer jumped up to a cargo truck and stop. He looked at her for a brief moment then dashed off. Bishop sighed, she was surrounded by her newfound allies but found herself alone, again.

With a huff, Bishop placed one heavy foot in front of the other as she lumbered down the street, hopping into one of the gaping holes the airstrikes created in the building. Stepping over a pile of charred, mangled corpses and dismembered limbs, she gagged as the smell of burning flesh hit her nostrils before the helmet could filter it out. Bounding out the half-collapsed room and into an intersection of a hallway she dove to cover as gunshots and the sounds of bullets whizzing past her head greeted her. She peaked out from around her cover as the bullets stopped, followed by a curse.

The perpetrator was a man who was hunched over his wounded friend, dragging him down the hall, a trail of blood smearing behind him. Bishop grimaced, but didn't hesitate to shoot, even as a knot filled the pit of her stomach. A month ago she wouldn't have dared to shoot another Militia man, but now, as much as it pained her, she killed for the IMC. More out of necessity than desire. She wore their uniform, a red flag to any Militia supporter, there was nothing she could say short of "I surrender" to avoid killing the very people she proudly fought beside. It also did not help that what had happened yesterday had begun to disillusion her from what she had believed about the Militia. Sure, she wasn't ignorant of the less savory characters who used the Militia and she knew of their less than stellar practices but she had thought even some things were taboo for the Militia.

Bishop frowned and shook her head to clear her thoughts as she leveled her R-101C. She put two rounds down range, dropping the hunched over grunt and finishing off the wounded in two precise headshots. She looked down the hall behind her to see an IMC pilot dash across it and into another room. She stood and continued down the hall, pointedly ignoring the pair of dead soldiers. At the end of this corridor was a staircase which she made her way up, putting a burst into a Militia pilot's chest as their own burst from their Hemlok BF-R went wide. She looked left, to see a pair of green and tan robotic drones advancing towards her, weapons already firing in accurate bursts. Bishop whipped back with a hiss as a bullet skimmed her shoulder. Quickly, she primed a frag grenade before arcing it off a wall, followed by a loud bang that echoed the halls. She stepped over one drone, almost sheared in half from the detonation as most of its front was missing, she raised her rifle to put a two round burst into the triangular head of the still twitching second robot.

As she neared the end of the hallway she looked. Out a window to see a towering IMC Atlas lay suppressive fire through a massive energy wall made of some sort of high density particle, she then saw Spencer arc down onto of the machine before using the thing as a springboard, never losing momentum as he entered the third story window of another building. "Showing off, hotshot?" Bishop opened a private channel to the man.

"Hey, someone's gotta keep the grunts inspired right?" He chuckled through the static of the radio, although gunshots could be heard in the background.

Bishop smirked, she found his cockiness annoying, only because he acted cocksure every time she questioned something he did in what she considered an unorthodox method. He usually wasn't cocky, confident in his ability yes, but always practically humble. Still, she digressed, he usually found a way to stop her from frowning. One of the only two reactions he seemed to cause within her, frustration or amusement. "But what would you have done if you got shot pulling that stunt?"

"Probably flop to ground a bloody mess." He said matter of factly as he stifled a curse, muttering a barely audible, "...motherfucker shot me…"

"I… Don't think that would've inspired the grunts." Bishop sighed.

"Hey, we can't be winners all the time." Spencer rebuttled, followed by more gunshots.

Bishop chuckled as she continued on, running down the sidewalk as she left the fourth story window of the building. She gazed to the skyline to see a Militia pilot snap an IMC pilot's neck. Part of her cheered on the Militia specialist while another felt saddened by the loss of an ally. The pilot looked to Bishop and watched as she sprinted by below before turning on their heel and sprinting off. Bishop shrugged but continued on. Soon enough she reached the bulk of the main battle, several IMC Titans lay dead as the Militia held off a large corporate courtyard with their own Titans and weapon emplacements. She made a hard left, diving behind a concrete planter as a pair of olive robotic legs stomped past, intercepting a similar pair of white legs in defense of the location. She crawled under a partially opened garage door and stood with a dusting of her person.

A quick sweep of the dark space proved the room devoid of hostiles, the only company in the room the shadows cast by the dim light the bled through the slightly ajar garage. Thankfully, the door to the garage was unlocked, and with a soft click and a silent hydraulic hiss the poor opened to a modern office space, several comfortable chairs and a glass wall separating a handful of cubicles led her to believe she was in the receptionist area of the building. However her interest was on the floor above, where the sounds of fighting could be heard.

Sprinting down the hall as silently as a person clad in kevlar and armor plating could, she ground to a halt at the bottom of a stairwell. Leaning to her left with her rifle leveled to her head she scanned the open space. When nobody stood out on her sights she quickly traversed the stairwell with a thrust assisted jump. Landing with a thud she watched as another pilot who was identified as he squadmate, Omega 5-1 threw a Militia grunt over his shoulder as the man attempted to snap his neck.

As the grunt awkwardly arced through the air, his arm acting as a fulcrum to his movements, Spencer dropped a knee to the man who bounced off the dark carpet of the floor. He quickly withdrew his sidearm before popping two quick shots into the man's torso. Looking to Bishop for a split second, he turned to fire three more shots down the hall behind him, a muffled scream of agony calling out in response. The room was then eerily silent as Spencer removed the half spent magazine from his weapon to place in a grab sack on his thigh before guiding in a fresh magazine with a soft metallic slide.

Bishop looked around the room then to Spencer, glancing at the two dead pilots at the windows and a few scattered corpses of grunts. She frowned at the loss of so many Militia but steeled her emotions to present her usual scornful demeanor. "Do this yourself?" She asked, her voice amplified by her helmet's speaker.

"There were some grunts." He sighed, "They... didn't make it." Standing to retrieve his rifle where it hung at his hips.

"Oh…" She responded, distant. She then looked at Spencer, cringing to herself at the sight of his bloody upper torso. She stepped up to the man to further inspect the wound. "You're bleeding." She stated.

"Yeah… I'll be fine." He shrugged off her concern, moving to a window that overlooked the courtyard that looked more like the front gates to a medieval castle.

Bishop moved to argue when she saw the slight tremors in his body as he stood still. "Adrenaline?" She asked, "That wound looks pretty nasty."

"Yeah, hit me when I started the injection system. Been running it since." He replied, sounding distracted. "It burns, but nothing I can't handle."

"You know you can overdose on that right?" She argued. "You should seek a medic."

"I'm fine, alright?" He sighed, turning to look at her over his left shoulder. "Now, we have a mission to complete. Lets go." As he began to move Bishop stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

As Spencer winced from the tender contact Bishop spoke. "Wait. There's a better target, less defended. Better intel." She said.

"Trying to get out of shooting Militia? Again?" He bristled.

"No." Bishop snapped at his tone before taking a palpable pause before speaking again. "The Militia usually run all of our important data through a smaller site. Usually less defended. We use public networks and encrypted messages and files." She explained, "We can get a lot of good intel before the Militia pack up shop if we can just get there first." She offered. True, she didn't want to kill any more than she had to, but she also was telling the truth. Whether or not the IMC would find any of this data useful was another argument.

Spencer looked to the woman, long enough to see that by her body language she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Grumbling to himself he motioned for Bishop to lead the way. As her body language relaxed she moved to a side window before hopping down to the concrete below. As Spencer's blue dot followed her she led them a few blocks away from the main objective.

"So… how do you know where this place is?" Spencer asked after a few minutes of light jogging.

"Ex-Militia. Remember?" Bishop huffed.

"So you just happen to know where all these data sights happen to be?" He shot back.

Bishop began to ask why he wasn't tired when she remembered the adrenaline he was most likely still using. "Still on that adrenaline?" She replied, inadvertently dodging his question.

"Back to the question at hand." Came the reply, indirectly answering her question.

With a ragged sigh she continued. "No. I don't happen to know where they all are. Just this one and a few others. This happens to be one of the Militia's main bases. I only know where it is because of the importance of its attached base." She huffed.

"So there's only one site?" He asked confused.

"For a location this scale? No. But, regardless, we are hitting one of their locations. Should be pretty light with the security. Not very secretive if you have an army guarding it." She chuckled to herself.

Spencer seemed to accept her answer with the absence of a retort or rebuttal. Soon enough they approached a rather plain looking cafe, a small bookstore up above the building with several small radio towers adorning the roof of the structure. She looked on with her helmet's built in binoculars before she heard Spencer grumble.

"Thought you said security would be lax." He hissed.

"Not my fault you dumbasses decided to kick the hornet's nest." She nearly barked, "Of course they would increase security!"

"Hey, we're only here because the First Intersolar Fleet is in orbit." He defended, "Besides there's only two of us and they have a squad of grunts and four pilots." He stated. "Impossible odds."

Bishop scowled but conceded with his observation. With a heavy sigh she opened a radio channel. "Hey, Wardd." She spoke.

"Bishop. I know you may not like how things are done in the IMC, but during a mission you are to use proper radio etiquette." Wardd responded.

"Yeah, listen. Spencer and I have found a valuable data site and we need support. We are heavily outnumbered, not to mention Spencer is wounded." She continued on, as if Wardd had not just spoken.

Wardd sighed audibly over the static of the radio. "Damnit… Alright, where are you?" He asked in an irritated tone. "Set up a beacon and the rest of Omega will be on their way."

"I'll ping you once." Bishop responded. "If I setup a beacon the Militia will probably detect it." She explained. "We can't have them finding us or calling more reinforcements."

There was a pause over the radio as Bishop pinged Wardd. "Very well. We'll be there in less than five minutes. Sit tight." He spoke as the radio snapped off.

Bishop turned to Spencer who pointedly looked away from her. "Got something to say, Spencer?" She asked, a scowl evident in her voice.

"No." He shifted, his voice was tense. Bishop had spent enough time with him to read some of the man's emotions.

"If you got something to say, come out and say it." Bishop grumbled.

"I don't."

Sighing explosively she turned on the man. "I can tell you do, so just come out and say it." She sighed in an irate tone.

"Bishop." He growled with restless anxiety. "Drop it." When he felt her gaze intensify into a defiant scowl he ground out, "I-It's the adrenaline, okay?" in a stammer.

"Don't lie to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not made of glass." She reassuringly coaxed him.

"I'll tell you back on the ship." Was his only response.

Bishop scowled but nodded. With nothing else to do but wait for her squad commander, she resigned herself to playing with her kit. Her fingers tracing lines and running along the various details of her harness. Soon a ragged hiss of pain drew her attention back to Spencer. A pair of green lights on his back flashing red as the adrenaline stimulant system ran out of the potent drug to administer.

She could hear him stifle a groan through gritted teeth, followed by a curse as his head and arm slowly curled into his left shoulder where he had been shot. "Aww crap, the pain is coming back." He belted out rapidly, voice strained with pain.

Bishop wanted to do something to ease the pain but she hadn't really paid attention when the Militia gave its crash course on medical care. The most she could do was pull him back where a pair of roving eyes wouldn't catch the audibly groaning man. She couldn't give him more adrenaline, he was likely to overdose on that stuff, instead she doted on him, verbally reassuring the man and keeping a gentle-yet-firm grip on his collar, leading to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood to the wounded area. She shushed the man when he began to question her actions. "Wardd will be here any moment. They can patch you up when they arrive." Bishop smirked. "Maybe next time you'll think twice about drug abuse."

Spencer stifled a pained growl in exchange for a annoyed response of an exaggerated sarcastic chuckle.

Bishop moved to speak when a cacophony of heavy footfalls interrupted her. Spinning on the balls of her toes, she leveled her rifle down the alleyway the two were currently occupying. As she quickly identified the advancing soldiers as allies she relaxed from her low crouch. "Christ, warn a girl next time!" She snapped. "Could of shot all you fucking robots."

"Is that what you did to Spencer?" Torrento joked.

Bishop scowled, she didn't find the large man's humor funny. Not in a situation like this.

When Torrento didn't get a verbal response he spoke again. "I'm joking. Geez. Lighten up…"

Wardd pushed past Torrento and all but moved Bishop out the way to look over Spencer. The young pilot sat on the floor, propped against the building with his knees loosely drawn to his chest, right hand clamped down on his blood soaked left shoulder. "What happened, corporal?" He asked in a mixture of disappointment and genuine concern.

"Took a potshot from a grunt with an submachine gun." The soldier wavered, trying to keep his reaction to the painful, emergent stimuli to a minimum.

"Damn it…" Wardd huffed. "You have to be more careful. What if they fucking killed you?" Wardd pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Spencer opened his mouth to speak and barely uttered a word before Wardd gazed upon him with a look that could only be described as imminent meltdown. Wordlessly silencing Spencer, Wardd looked over his shoulder to another man. "Decker, check him out. Do what you can."

Bishop looked the approaching man over skeptically. She had never seen or even known this person was on Omega Squad.

"They finally let you out the ship?" Spencer asked.

"I pulled some strings." Came a voice with a faint tint of strain, almost as if he was sick or yelled until his voice failed him.

"How's the grafting going?" Spencer tried to make light conversation while his uniform was cut away from his arm. Bishop continued to look on but was redirected by Wardd.

"Don't worry, your 'buddy' will be fine. Decker is the squad specialist, Spencer is in good hands." Wardd explained, a slight smirk gracing his features as Bishop's body language relaxed. "Anyways, what's so important that you requested backup?" Wardd said, forming a loose circle with the remaining members of his squad.

"There's a Militia data site inside the cafe over there. Could be some really good intel. The place had too much defense for us to take alone." Bishop pointed to the small building across the street, using the dark shadows of the alleyway cast by the setting sun to hide the squad.

"Sixteen grunts and four pilots?" Turner scoffed, "you need reinforcements for that?" He blanched.

"There was only two of us, not to mention one of us was wounded." Bishop nearly deadpanned.

"Alright. Well, we need to hit them fast and hard. If the Militia get a chance to call in backup we could have a problem on our hands." Wardd interjected before anything could escalate further from Turner's comment.

"What's to say the Militia don't just wipe the data when we start an attack?" Gomez quipped skeptically.

"Believe me, it would take too much time to wipe the data cores. At the least they would scramble the encryptions on the data. Nothing I'm sure you IMC robots can't crack." Bishop shot back with a little more venom than she consciously intended.

"Let's just hope this is worth it." Gomez sighed.

"Alright everyone, spread out and pick an angle of attack. We rush in and pick them off. Remember to stay clear of crossfire." He instructed as his soldiers split up.

It took a few minutes of careful maneuvering before the small band of soldiers were in position. A quick flurry of chirps over the radio confirmed the status of Omega squad, and with a go ahead given from Wardd, the team began their assault.

The crack of a rifle was the signal to commence the attack as an olive clad grunt dropped to the ground, hand around their neck as crimson escaped in cascading pulses to pool on the ground.

Bishop was quick to act, wanting to prove herself to her squad commander, in the off chance that this operation didn't pan out like she hoped. Raising her R-101C to her helmet's cheek guard she let loose a torrent of full-auto death. Quickly snapping from target to target as she watch soldiers and raiders alike crumble and fall under her fire.

Pushing the dark, regretful thoughts to the back of her mind as she leaped from her perch. The large novelty sign of some abstract company logo had provided itself a good ambush point, but she couldn't help Omega squad from their current position. Instead she leaped down just behind the hulk of a man that called itself Torrento. "Hey, get our 12 I got our 6?" She ordered more than asked, putting another burst into one of the grunts that made the outside security. She turned to a pilot, adorned in painted on decals and leveled her rifle to hear a dreadful click click click of an empty magazine. Before she could even react the pilot caught a trail of bullets up through their stomach, into their left lung and out through the shoulder.

She watched the pilot drop to the ground, a pained, gurgled feminine scream of anguish ripping from her throat. Whimpering in pain she managed to blabber, "Oh god… I-I don't wanna die…" And with effort the pilot managed to roll onto their front and crawl a few feet before their forehead blossomed. An exodus of blood, bone and chunks of flesh accompanying the bullet that had ventilated her helmet.

Bishop watched on, horror stricken at the scene that had unfolded before her. Swallowing a lump in her throat as she heard a gruff voice over the COMMS. "I'm not here to babysit. Watch your ass." Wardd drawled over the radio.

Bishop managed to pull herself back to the firefight that she was in the middle of and replaced her spent magazine, slide locked back as the internal mechanisms and barrels continued to smoke from recent use. With a fresh magazine in time for Torrento to call her over as he pushed his way into the small cafe. She hunkered behind him, firing at anyone who took potshots at the man. She watched as he shrugged off smaller caliber rounds that pancaked against his up armored assault harness.

Soon the small business went from presentable to barely recognizable. Gunfire had whittled the counter tops to piles of mangled plastic and wood. The majority of the tables reduced to splinters from several fragmentation grenade detonations. Inside the room were several corpses scattered about the debris filled space. Crouched behind the impromptu human shield she was accompanying she paused a moment to push the gnawing feeling of shame and resentment when Torrento gasped out in pain, stumbling a few steps back. Bishop moved from behind him to see a pilot with an EVA-8 shotgun. She watched as the weapon automatically chambered the next shell before unleashing another torrent of lead pellets.

Torrento yelped and stumbled back under the hail of pellets, tearing small furrows into the man's heavy kevlar and aluminum plating. Torrento wavered and collapsed to a knee as the Militia pilot advanced, another thunderous crack as the EVA-8 coughed out more metal spheres. A scream ripped from Torrento's throat as flecks of blood accompanied the sparks and bits of fluff that came off his person.

Bishop moved from behind Torrento to try and assist the man. That action proved to be a mistake however as the pilot turned from Torrento to the sudden, new threat that Bishop presented. With a gasp Bishop dove to the ground among the corpses and splintered husks of chairs and tables as three rapid shots filled the air around her. She heard the Pilot curse at the poorly executed shots followed by a rapid staccato report as several small caliber rounds met the Militia specialist.

The man groaned and grunted as round after round found purchase in his body. His uniform quickly dying red as his body gained more and more dime sized wounds. As the pilot groaned and collapsed to a unsteady knee another burst caught him in the chest, trailing up into his neck guard to penetrate his helmet with a series of metallic plinks and cracks. A sickening wet sounding crunch mixed with a splat was followed by a whined gurgle and a heavy thud as the soldier fell back into a splayed out heap of metal, cloth and flesh.

A panicked voice called out to Torrento as a pilot rushed over the support the large man who propped himself up on his elbow. Bishop stood up and went over to aid Torrento as well, even as bullets continued to fly within the crowded space.

Spotting her move, Gomez called out to Bishop. "Help me move him!" He said with a yell, grabbing the man's arms while Bishop grappled his legs. A bit of struggling and the akward distribution of weight was all that slowed their progress as they got the wounded man behind the battered husk of an aluminum display case.

Bishop looked Torrento over and grimaced at the amount of bleeding he was suffering. Torrento seemed to catch her gaze and gaze a strained, reassuring voice. "It's… Worse than it looks." He tried to laugh only for a pained groan to escape his lips.

"I'm going to try and dress his wounds. Clean up out here and get that data." Gomez instructed as he rifled through a small field medical kit.

Bishop nodded with reluctance. Worried about the angered dismissive tone he was using. It was the kind of voice she heard grunts use when they foolishly declared their vengeance on IMC pilots when one of their friends were killed.

"Wardd, this is Bishop. Torrento is hit. Doing a final sweep of the cafe." She spoke, Wardd coming back with animated confusion in his voice.

"What do you mean 'Torrento is hit'?" He asked angered and confused.

"Took an EVA-8 a few times. He said he was fine, but Gomez is looking over him." She explained as she put a wounded grunt out of their misery with a sullen grimace.

She heard Wardd let out a long, deep breath before talking. "...Fuckin great…" He muttered. "Alright. Get upstairs and flank those last few Militia, they're dug in pretty hard. We'll keep em distracted from the parking lot." Wardd finished with a grunt as the gunfire outside picked up in intensity.

Bishop nodded to no one in particular and pushed her way into a winding narrow stairway. The only significant lighting in the dull blue hallway being a fluorescent light swinging from a chain, casting the claustrophobic space in shifting shadows. With heavy footsteps she approached the top of the stairway, swallowing the growing anticipatory lump in her throat.

She swept the hallway the staircase fed out into. No sign of hostiles. Silently she stalked over to the door in a low crouch. Placing herself aside the door so that when it opened it would provide a block of sight lines to her position.

She then paused as she heard the frantic voices inside the room some cursing, some on the verge of tears, the others seething with rage. They called for support, pointed out areas where Omega had hunkered down and gave each other directions to alternate their fire.

Bishop sighed quietly to herself, hand brushing over a frag grenade on her belt before pausing and eventually withdrawing her hand with a shake of her head. An explosive in such a small space could destroy the very objective they were after.

Wringing her hands on her rifle's pistol grip she eased the door open with her left hand. A slow creak rendered inaudible over the din of the gunfire in the room. She crept up behind the group of men shooting from the window and put two three round bursts into the remaining two pilots. The gunshots masked by the other people shooting in the room. Only when she had killed three more grunts did the remaining Militiamen try to fight back. She dispatched these soldiers as well, a firm grimace locked on her features.

She spared those who surrendered and gave the all clear signal to Wardd. Moment's later three pairs of jumpkits were heard as the rest of Omega squad arrived.

The first words out of Wardd's mouth were predictable. "Where is Torrento?" He frowned at the few soldiers huddled in the corner on their knees with their hands above their heads.

A tired, downtrodden, "Downstairs." Was the only answer she provided. Wardd looked to Turner and jerked his head to the door and subsequent stairs that led to the lobby.

As Turner marched off he turned to Miller. "See what you can pull."

Miller complyed and worked for a few minutes before speaking. "It's under some heavy encryption… whatever it is must be valuable. Nothing I can do here in the field… but I can pull the drives. Command can sort through these." He explained, even as he toiled away on the various computer systems in the room.

"Alright, bag them up. I'm going to call for an evac. We have multiple wounded, not to mention a potentially valuable asset. Round up the others and let's go." He sighed before turning to Bishop. "Good work today. Spencer would be proud of you."

Bishop smiled warmly to herself at the praise, shaking herself from her own reverie. "Thanks." came back a hoarse voice. She was unaware she had teared up.

"I know it must be… difficult to be shooting the same people you used to call brothers in arms… but you did well." He said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Things could've gone better… But you held your own, showed some initiative and reliability."

Bishop stayed silent. Electing to watch Spencer and Decker maneuver their way through the war torn parking lot into the torn remains of the cafe's lobby. Eventually she found herself drifting back to the lobby. She felt as if some part of her had been torn out then shredded, stitched together then forced back in. She had never expected to feel so bad for basically betraying her own kind. She wasn't naive enough to believe that she would never have to raise a weapon against her former allies. However, she never thought it would be as painful, nor difficult as it was. She sulked in her own broth of emotional turmoil until Spencer called out to her, concern in his voice.

"Bishop? You okay?" He asked. "You look troubled."

Bishop frowned genuinely, not one of the habitual grimaces she usually displayed. She was glad he couldn't see her expression behind the full plate helmet, but the slight slump in her shoulders gave enough of a hint to the man for him to continue.

"Come on. Let's take a walk." He offered.

She sluggishly agreed and followed the man out to the parking lot. Turner and Fannuchi had done a decent job of cleaning up the corpses. All placed in a neat row behind a cargo van.

"Are you okay?" Bishop asked after a few moments of silent walking. Staring at the red smoke that billowed from an aluminum alloy canister in the middle of the lot.

"Going to spend the eleven hours in a detox chamber. Other than that I'll be fine." He responded with a rub to the back of his neck with his unwounded arm.

"That's… That's good." She responded.

"You sounded concerned for a moment." He joked with a soft punch to her shoulder.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You're just like… The only person I can tolerate out here." She chuckled.

"Oh. Darn, I thought I was a soft spot in that hard demeanor." He laughed.

"Not even." She smiled. "If you died I would just have no one else to hang around."

Spencer harumphed playfully, crossing his arms in mock dejection.

Bishop chuckled half-heartedly, resigning herself to a sigh.

Noticing the change in her mood her turned to her, even as they chose to sit on a concrete dividing wall. "So what's eating you?" He asked. When she didnt respond he added, "If you would rather not talk about it… That's fine too." He offered.

She started out meekly, "I never expected it to be this hard…" She trailed off. "What would you do if had to turn around and fight for the Militia? For a cause you dont believe in?"

The corporal was silent for a moment, considering his next words carefully before speaking. "I may not believe in what either side wants… But I wouldnt turn my back on the IMC…" He stated. "We both know I would rather die before I betrayed my allies."

"Yeah, well you didn't give me that chance." She said with unintended venom, even though she had meant what she had said. " And now I have to kill the same people I was proud to fight with. The same people I would still be proud to fight with."

"...I..I'm sorry." Was all the pilot could offer her. She could tell that he had that shameful, miserable scowl he wore when she said something undeniably true about her nature that contrasted her current situation. She silently berated herself, here he had come, out of concern for an ally, to cheer her up. And what does she do? Make him feel bad too.

"I… Spencer- I'm sorry. It wasn't fair of me to say that."

"N-no. It's fine. It was unfair of me to put you in that position… I'm sorry." He countered, she could hear the forced smile in his voice, were it not for the time she had spent with him she probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

"I'm not saying it's your fault. I just… Need time to adjust." She sighed. She then looked as the whining thrum of jet engines close on their position, signaling the arrival of their evac ship. As they boarded the ship she spoke to Spencer again. "Just give me some more time to adjust and Im sure I will be fine."

Spencer nodded silently, looking back to her over his bandaged left shoulder.

Bishop braced as the ship took off with a lurch, rapidly ascending with ever increasing speed as the ship prepared for a warp jump to the IMS Eden waiting in orbit.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry about the lack of a chapter last month. I got busy and then it was my birthday! Well anyways, without further ado, new chapter. Longest one yet. Let me know what you guys and girls think!**

December 2, 1106 Hours

Things were hectic to say the least. The information that Omega retrieved was cryptic. Half messages and vague references to other encrypted messages. However, the IMC and their data specialists had managed to break down the protected information into a message that alluded to the arrival of the Militia's main forces. And in a short two weeks the frontlines of the frontier had changed.

While this star system had its fair share of combat it was nowhere as hectic as the fighting that went down on the frontlines. Places like Demeter and Angel City made locales like Adaena look like a turf war between two rival gangs.

The arrival of the IMS Colossus had been the starting point. Days after the IMC's Frontier fleet arrived the Militia was spotted in force at the rim of the system. The First Intersolar Fleet moved to deny the Militia unfettered access to the system's numerous planets which left the Frontier fleet to descend upon the first planet that would be contested in their renewed war. A small planet by the name Cysus. It's proximity to the Frontier Militia as they warped into the system making it a prime target for the Militia's bellicose campaign.

"INCOMING!" It was the only warning Lima squad received before another salvo of cluster rockets took out half the floor of the operations building they were in.

"Lieutenant! They've breached the compound!" A young man by the name of Andrew Bryce belted out, the terror evident in his voice. True to his word, several Militia pilots and Grunts moved into the huge gaping hole in the wall. Soon they spilled deeper into the compound, even as they rushed head on into defensive blankets of fire.

The man looked to his squad, all of them in defensive positions, firing upon the men, women and machines rushing towards them. "Hold them off!" The man barked before catching a sideways glance from the commander of Delta Squad. "Sergeant, take your men outside, call down your Titans. We can't let them take this position."

The woman nodded. "Yes sir." She then turned to Lima Squad. "Stay safe, Austin. Talk to you back on the Colossus." She smiled.

"Fraternize later, we have a job to do." The Lieutenant sighed. The Sergeant nodded, rounded up her squad and bolted down the hallway, heading towards the elevators that would take them to the first floor, four stories below them.

"Never seen the Lieutenant like that…" One of her subordinates spoke on the ride down.

"Then you must not have been payin attention, mate. Bloke s'always like that." Her second in command, a man by the name of Peter Bennett laughed.

"Yeah, you never were too bright." A chuckle came from the only soldier in her squad who refused to wear a helmet. She was a woman of Australian origin, if her accent was anything to go by. She had a soft almost statuesque face, with a heavy smattering of freckles, albeit barely visible on her tanned visage. She ran her hand through her short, almost white blond hair, brushing her bangs from her eyes to give a cheery smile.

As the group started to laugh and tell jokes Sergeant Bryce spoke up. "Focus, we have a job to do guys."

"Killjoy…" White muttered, her normally upbeat voice dampered, if only for the moment.

The ding of parting elevator doors was the only warning Delta squad had before they were met with utter chaos. The IMC in the lobby were hard pressed to keep their defensive line intact. Dozens of corpses littered both sides of the line and with the introduction of Spectres on behalf of the Militia it seemed as if the tide of battle was going to shift considerably.

"White! Bennett! Clarke! Take the remaining grunts and try to hold this line. Call your Titans on auto pilot. They should keep the Militia busy." Bryce barked. "Allen and Nguyen, you two sweep the perimeter. Make sure nobody is sneaking around our defenses. Everyone else is with me." She snapped rapidly, placing a marker for her Titan to be deployed.

Spyglass' 'face' superimposed itself on her HUD in the corner, delivering a monotone, "Standby for titanfall." As a series of crackling air brake thrusters fired off to slow the descent of the massive machine.

She watched as the Titan crushed an advancing squad of Militia soldiers before the drop shield kicked in. Several more allied Titans landed in quick succession, three of them switching to the OS controlled autopilot.

She directed her Titan to move to her position and broke from cover to make a running jump, her machine catching her mid air. The metal cockpit blossoming like a rose to accept it's pilot before resealing with a pneumatic hiss.

"Autopilot disengaged. Transferring control to pilot." Her OS greeted her. Seconds later followed by Commander Blisk.

"Attention all units, we are getting hammered out here. Turn, it, around. Let's show these lazy IMC 'soldiers' how we do things in the frontier!" He snapped, it was obvious they were losing. She had gotten used to it. The IMC always seemed to "win" in her time of service.

Like Demeter. They "won" but the planet still blew up and they lost a lot of good men and women. Same with the Hammond Robotics facility. They won the battle there, but the facility took heavy damage and again, heavy losses. This was one of the few times when Blisk actually sounded flustered. He tried not to show it, but soldiers picked up on these things, subtle cues as to what a commanding officer was thinking. It was the first time they would actually lose. A complete loss, not something that could be played off in as a victory. Blisk knew it and his men knew it. If they didn't turn things around, and fast, they would be seeing the inside of an evacuation ship, or a casket.

"Warning: Missile lock." Blared through the cockpit as Sergeant Bryce deployed her magnetic vortex shield, suspending several small caliber rounds and a single rocket, turning to the closets hostile Titan before letting the barrage loose. She watched as an Atlas stumbled back, catching the receiving end of her suspended munitions. As the machine dodged back in a torrent of blue gouts of flame, it caught several explosive canisters fired from a modified, oversized grenade launcher.

Commonly referred to as the "Triple Threat" due to its three horizontal barrels the weapon continued to spit out grenade after grenade as her ally focused fire on the green Atlas. Making a silent cry of triumph as the Atlas' shields failed she dumped her own load of slaved warheads. The missiles screaming as they impacted the unshielded chassis of the Atlas before her.

As the warheads bloomed in a flash of light, fire and thunder, only to be engulfed in smoke, she dumped the 40mm payload of her main weapon. Only ceasing fire when her OS spoke up.

"Alert: Enemy Pilot has ejected."

Normally she would be elated, celebrating a clean Titan kill. But then again, normally she wasn't bum rushed by a dying Titan with a nuclear meltdown unfolding. She stood still, her brain screaming to move, to protect herself, as the machine closed distance. As her muscles locked up in fear, her viewport dimmed, trying to compensate for flare, even as it whited out. The Atlas had latched onto her machine in some suicidal, final attack. She heard a scream, she knew it was her own, but it sounded distant, foreign.

There was a whine, then a clap. Followed by the biggest earthquake she had ever felt. Rustling inside the Atlas as another detonated at point blank range. This was followed by a sense of limbo, comms were dead. No static, no electronic pings from channels being switched. Nothing. The same was for her viewports, aside from the relatively dim lights of her helmet she was in the dark. She was in pain, so she crossed out the possibility of the afterlife. She then scrambled to right herself from her jostled state.

As she reseated herself she tried a few switches, a key still jangled nosily from its ignition slot. She cranked the key, then waited. A minute passed before the screen turned on, shattered and faceted into a million different slivers of distorted image. A single sentence blinked across the top. "Critical Systems Failure…"

She cursed and moved to open the hatch. No use, the plates refusing to budge as they fused shut from the heat of a nuclear blast. She then moved to the ejection hatch which had a manual release. Thankfully the release still worked, although the glowing red of the surrounding metal was not too assuring. As she yanked the release handle down the door popped open with a pneumatic hiss. With a quick check of her helmet's geiger counter, with radiation levels idling at about thirty five rads above normal levels she kicked the door open with a loud bang. The hatch flying away before clanking loudly in the distance.

With a grunt she stood to her full height of six foot two inches, looking at the graveyard around her. She stood in the epicenter of a massive crater easily two to three hundred feet wide, the dirt and concrete superheated to a glass like state. Ash filtered down from the air as she gazed upon the front of the building they were defending. There were no traces of living, breathing, humanity. Concrete and steel columns reduced to rebar cores and mangled, half melted structural supports.

The only identifiable mass of metal was the remains of her Atlas, both arms sheared off, munitions and pouch moorings disintegrated, chassis smoking and on fire in some places. She managed to yank the optics drive from the shredded hull of her machine. She doubted it was working but it was worth trying to get it back to her commanding officer.

Speaking of commanding officer she tried her COMMS again. The Titan's onboard communications obviously inoperable. She gazed about as her helmet reestablished connection with the IMC ships in orbit. The silence was eerie. No birds, no ambient noise, just wind as it swept through the crater, between the nooks and crannies of machines, moments ago that were functioning.

The pop of static and panicked voices were a welcome sign. Sergeant Bryce sighed in relief, she recognized the voices as some of her squadmates. "White, give me a sitrep."

"Boss?! Thought they went and offed you." The australian woman said over the sound of gunfire. "Christ, get some pressure on that wound!" Things sounded bad on her end, punctuated by an explosion. It sounded very loud over the radio but very distant to Sergeant Bryce. "Anyways… Right. Sitrep…" White sighed. "We're fucking fucked. Up a fucking river without a bloody paddle. These Militia been givin' us a walloping."

The Sergeant nodded as she located her squad, 1200 meters, a long distance, she sighed and started for a run. On the lookout for any Militia she might run into. "Blisk has ordered a retreat, but not before salvaging what we can. The planet's lost. That blast? It took out Takahara and the controls for half the defense grid." She choked back what sounded like crying, before resolving herself.

"What about Lima? Did… they make it out?" Bryce huffed, making up a good 450 meters in the three and a half minutes she had been running.

"Your brother is fine if that's what you're asking."

Bryce exhaled a bated breath of relief. She smiled, even if she was in the deepest trouble she had ever known, her brother was safe.

"Anyways…" White said as several more gunshots were heard. "If you could get over here Sarge, we could use the support. Besides, evac is in like five minutes. You should triple time it. Just sayin."

"I'm almost… There…" She continued to pant, placing one foot in front of the other. She craned her head to see several Goblin dropships arc into the distant skies, carrying cargo containers in place of their crew compartments.

Within minutes she was able to sneak past the Militia attacking her men and was able to evacuate upon an armored dropship. She looked to her squad, Takahara was absent, apparently killed in the blast. Bennett was injured, several bullet wounds to his torso had reduced the man to a groaning pile of flesh and armor as pain wracked his body. She then looked to White, the woman was tired, but she smiled triumphantly. Bryce would put in a recommendation for a promotion for Specialist White. She had earned one.

"Entering orbit." The pilot announced as the ship shook violently for a brief moment before leveling out. It would be another few moments of somber silence before they docked with the IMS Colossus. She frowned. Blisk would be furious, and he would take it out on his men.

December 5, 0917 Hours

Adaena had been spared for the time being. But everyone knew not for long. Especially with the distress calls the marooned Militia were sending. Not to mention the way the IMC was hammering their forces in one of the most one sided campaigns this close to the frontier.

Not long after their arrival the IMC suffered their first major loss in the system. A massive firefight broke out on the jungle planet of Cysus and shortly afterwards the IMC lost a major shipping post and storage facility. Normally not a massive loss, but the entire operation was automated. While the problem could be solved by changing the signals being transmitted from the facility, it would take time to change the sheer amount of data, not to mention all the shipments that have already been sent. Besides the obvious fact of denying the Militia with fresh supplies, the same goes for the IMC. A loss of a major source of supplies from all over human inhabited space. And with a massive defeat, Spyglass had ordered his fleet to move to the next tactically contested planet. The IMC fleeing like an animal beaten, tail between their legs as they performed a short jump to their next destination. They were soon chased by the Militia's Marauder Corps and fighting broke out on yet another planet.

Commander Blisk was furious, he had requested support from the First Intersolar Fleet, not to mention the Third Expeditionary Fleet who had been stationed in the System in the first place. However, because of how the IMC's compartmentalization worked, their ranks had no leverage outside their respective fleets unless mandated from the IMC's Private Military Command. An order that had not come. All the while Spyglass and Blisk argued that the combined might of the IMC forces in the system could provide an overwhelmingly brutal offensive and crush the Militia in a landslide engagement, neither could prove that the IMC's losses would be minimal. It was a strategy that would be effective but costly. The IMC could be very shortsighted when it came to profits and losses. The potential loss of several trillions of credits heavily outweighed the cost of losing the Frontier and their forces in it. It was an outcome they believed impossible, and as such did not consider.

And because of the IMC's shortsightedness their collective forces were getting stomped in nearly every major battle in this new, war torn system. Many of the commanding personnel were afraid to consolidate their forces, fear of reprimanding the forefront issue on their mind. Unauthorized use of IMC property was a serious offense. Their paramilitary sector could do as they see fit with broken rules, such was the ambiguity of the legal system on the fringe of humanity. People tended to be overzealous and harsh with their punishments, it was a deterrent in of itself.

Eventually the tide of the frontlines moved unto Adaena. The Militia had come to the aid of the nearly depleted Militiamen on the planet. As their reinforcements pushed the IMC back they came across an old mothyard. Several old space faring cruisers and frigates, not to mention two warships. Relics from the Titan Wars.

Blisk and his forces scrambled to deny the Militia the ships. Their current fleet was insignificant, but they could pad their forces with these older, smaller ships. The potential of a loss here was very real, with dire consequences should the IMC lose.

Captain North had agreed to cooperate with Blisk. The Militia were attacking his sector afterall. Captain North also used the First Intersolar Fleet to assist him, as their original orders were to assist the Third Expeditionary Fleet in the first place. For the first time since their arrival in the system the Militia was facing one of the most overwhelming defenses of any battle in the history of the frontier. Thousands of Spectre drones infested the mothyard, with several contingents of pilots and grunts. Their forces numbering in the few thousands. Several hundred Titans had been deployed as well and were currently pounding the Militia and their offensive front.

Omega squad was being deployed on the outskirts if the area. The Militia was getting very desperate. They changed their objective from taking as many ships as possible to stealing a few select ships. Namely the two warships and a carrier class cruiser. From the sound of things, Blisk, who had taken command of the theater of operations due to his very high rank, was still having problems denying the Militia, despite overwhelming odds in his favor. Now several hundred footsoldiers were trying to make away with some of the more ignored ships on the very outskirts of the mothyard. They had secured a foothold in a surrounding town and the Militia was using it as a staging area for their operations in the area. Blisk had ordered, nearly demanded, that the IMC take it from the Frontier Militia.

Spencer looked to the other soldiers in his Goblin dropship as it raced towards the surface. Three other pilots, Wardd, Turner and Decker along with four other grunts and a spyglass unit by the back door. Spencer gazed up to the front, peering into the cockpit as two airmen worked the ship down to their designated drop zone. Wardd turned to the group at hand and spoke over the din of the turbines of the Goblin.

"Alright, we are dropping on the west side of this little town. We are to secure two radio towers and a makeshift artillery site before linking up with our wingmen. The Militia are hitting us hard. But we hit them harder, understand?" Earning a resounding warcry, he smiled before one of the crewmen aboard the dropship grabbed his attention.

"Sir, Falcon 2-7 has been shot down. We have no contact from the crew or the rest of your squad." The man spoke lowly into Wardd's ear, causing the man to grimace deeply.

"...Understood." Wardd responded tersely, taking a pause to contain his flaring anger. He then turned to the rest of his squad.

"Attention, approaching drop zone." The spyglass unit spoke. "Estimated time till arrival… thirty seconds." It churned out in a monotonous, robotic drawl.

"Bad news." Wardd yelled. "Turns out, our other bird was shot down. No radio contact was able to be established. So hope for the best, but assume the worst." He said, when his squad simply stared blankly at him he sighed grimly. "We complete our objective, then we can look for survivors… or bodies." He instructed as the aircraft lurched to a halt. Hovering twenty feet from the ground on one side, a few feet above a building on the other.

As the bay doors whined their way open, Spencer dashed off the ship, making a beeline, full speed for his objective. As much as it pained him to consider the prospect of losing his squadmates, he had objectives, priorities to attend to. If they were in fact dead, their deaths would be in vain if they failed the mission. The faster he finished his objectives the faster he could look for his allies.

Spencer ignored Wardd's yells of protest as he rushed guns blazing towards his first objective, a radio station that had been hijacked and repurposed for the Militia's cause. He cleared one hundred, then two hundred yards of urban sprawl, jumpkit whining as he propelled himself twenty feet into the air to grab the ledge of a third story window. Vaulting into the room he leveled his rifle, flicking the safety off as he acquired his first targets. He belted out an enraged primal yell as he felt the rapid thuds of recoil as the gun tried to rip from his hands, he grimaced, even as arcs of crimson sprayed arcs of marring vibrancy onto his armor in wicked patterns of organic splatters and webs. Shouldering past the grunt who was dead before he hit the ground he let loose another burst of bullets with a feral, primal roar. '_I'll kill every last one of them.' _

He was vaguely aware of his allies following behind him in his swath of destruction. It was a relatively insignificant detail compared to his urge to avenge his allies. If they were gone, he was going to make them pay.

Several minutes and magazines later, the room was void of any combat effective Militia. A few twitched on the floor, one pilot, slumped under a window sill held his abdomen, stemming his loss of blood even as he slowly drowned in his own fluids. With a whimpering gurgle and a wet cough he struggled to look to the corporal who looted his body of ammunition before unholstering the pilot's RE-45 Autopistol. Spencer flicked the safety off casually as he leveled the weapon to the pilot, who weakly raised a hand in protest before he pulled the trigger. He watched the man's head rock back before it slumped forward again, chunks of white and pink draining from the crimson stream pouring out of the dime sized wound in his head.

Casually discarding the weapon he opened his COMMS, "We're clear." He grunted hoarsely. Turning from the corpse to regroup with the remainder of his squad in the room below him.

Wardd turned to regard Spencer, looking over his shoulder , from the table he was hunched over, both hands planted over a workstation with several mechanical odds and ends strewn about. The young pilot paused, staring back at his squad from the stairwell before meandering down the stairs.

"Badger and Hunter Squad are on their way to secure this area. We have a new objective." Wardd began as he turned to regard the corporal. "IMC forces are getting hammered, due to a lack of reinforcements. Specifically from our squad. We need to go on the offensive and clear out a jump complex. If they can power up one of those ships, even if they don't get the ship into orbit, firing those engines would roast a majority of our forces down there.

"What about the other radio tower and the artillery site? " Turner asked.

"Banshee and Raptor squad are taking care of that. We have a new objective, like it or not, our priorities have changed."

"What about our squad?!" Spencer almost barked.

"We may not have a squad to search for in a moment…" At Spencer's urgent, confused expression Decker pressed on. "Well, according to these readings, the Militia may inadvertently overload the generators. Now, whether this is intentional or not… That's anybody's guess. Point being: those generators go, most of the planet goes." Decker interjected, perusing through several pages of data as they scrolled across several monitors on the far wall of the room.

"Would they really do that?" Turner asked.

"They could pin it on the IMC if it happened." Spencer thought out loud.

"You mean like Demeter?" Turner asked, earning a heavy, weary sigh from Decker and a grimace from Wardd.

"Yeah, like Demeter…" Wardd grunted.

"Well. Missing teammates or not, we have a job to complete." Spencer said with conviction. There was no way his friends would be alive if the planet was nearly destroyed. Not to mention the countless deaths. "Besides. I would rather not get blown up in a critical meltdown." He added with a bit of lighthearted humor.

"Ditto." Turner chirped.

"Vaporized." Decker said with a feigned cough as he corrected them.

"Whatever, let's go. We have Militia to kill." Wardd sighed at the suddenly childish behavior.

As the group readied their gear they shared a somber look, the gravity of their new objective suddenly weighing on them. With a nod from Wardd the group rushed out the door toward a narrow side street. As the cleared the building the weaved through parked cars to come across a surprised IMC patrol.

Decker dove to the side as the grunts fired a reactionary barrage of bullets in Omega Squad's direction.

"Hold your fire! Fucking friendlies!" Decker yelled out as he hunkered behind a utility vehicle parked on the side of the road. As the rest of Omega also took cover, they too called for a ceasefire.

Eventually the startled soldiers seemed to understand the situation, the grunts calling to each other to hold their fire. One of the grunts, a woman with a wide, slightly curvy yet stocky build approached Wardd who stood with a glare. "Sorry about that." She chuckled nervously.

"Next time, check your fucking targets! Damn near killed me!" Decker yelled animatedly, body trembling with anger and adrenaline.

"Sorry sir, we didn't know it was friendlies. Especially how you guys appeared from nowhere. Fighting here has been intense, real close quarters. We're just jumpy s'all." She explained. Decker sighed, huffing out before he went to speak, only to be cut off by Wardd.

"We don't have time for this!" He snapped, turning to Decker. "Sergeant, be glad none of my men were injured, exercise caution from now on. Know your surroundings." He ordered, brushing past Turner and Spencer who just stared at the little scene unfold.

The woman nodded, an embarrassed blush in her cheeks as she sheepishly agreed. "Y-yes sir."

As Spencer and turner moved to follow, they heard the grunt let out a ragged sigh, muttering, "Those guys are intense…"

It was a few more moments of running as the group worked their way through alleyways and buildings, engaging the Militia forces that seemed to be popping up like weeds.

In the span of ten minutes the men were positioned at the bottom of a large concrete slope that served as a retaining wall and a blast shield for the mothyard.

Several massive pipes easily thirty to forty feet in diameter as well as power cables as thick as an Ogre-Class Titan fanned out like veins stemming from the heart of a body, feeding energy and water as well as tethering the ships to the facility. The first thing Omega noticed were the several large, nearly mountainous piles of cable that had formed. Militia soldiers were scrambling around to try and prepare some of the smaller, yet still monolithic space cruisers for flight. The next major issue was an Atlas Titan, olive in color with a myriad of decorative war paints slapped onto the chassis. Its armor was sheared in some places, covered in large dents and bullet holes where the plating remained, the machine smoked but it was still more than capable of engaging four pilots.

This was furthered by the fact that six different IMC Titans lay in a mangled mess, strewn about the robot with several dozen IMC soldiers lying dead, sprawled about the battlefield. The only evidence that the Militia Titan had assistance was a single Ogre Titan slumped against the retaining wall, both arms and a leg missing from the machine as well as half of the cockpit plating.

Spencer scanned for any signs of the Ogre pilot when he spotted another soldier on top of the Atlas, dressed in the green, yellow, tan and orange of the MCOR Militia. These Marauders stood apart from the standard Frontier militia in that these men and women were almost all veterans, comparatively highly skilled and well trained. The man looked relaxed, while his head swiveled for threats he seemed to be having a conversation with the pilot inside the machine.

Spencer marked the man on his HUD, sharing it with his teammates before saying, "Confirmed soft target. One hundred meters."

"Got it." Said Wardd, who leveled his G2A4, there was a pause, followed by a single crack. Spencer watched as the man's head nearly exploded, most of the mass coming off in huge chunks and sprays of blood. "He's down." Wardd said as the corpse flopped off of the Titan.

This caused the Militia Atlas to turn with a startle, quickly moving to the right, spinning in slow circles while it scanned the environment for the new threat.

Wardd turned to his squad who was already one step ahead of him, already unclipping and unholstering their Anti-Titan weapon. Spencer and Turner had Sidewinders whilst Decker sported a modified Charge rifle. Wardd had an Archer Heavy Rocket Launcher. They four shared a silent moment, nodding their heads before splitting up.

Spencer and Turner elected to make their way through the wreckage of the battlefield, weaving through, under, between, and over the metal husks of the former war machines. Spencer leaped and vaulted over a hand that looked like it belonged on a Stryder, hunkering behind the length of a demolished Militia Ogre arm. He took a moment to locate his teammates, craning his head around even as the Militia Titan stomped away in the background. Satisfied that they were in good positions he jumped atop the severed limb and emptied his weapon into the Titan.

As the rockets exploded upon the Titan's shield he hopped back down, avoiding a retaliatory burst of bullets from the machine as he dashed off, swerving between the wreckage as he fumbled with his spare magazines. He heard the sound of twenty small micro rockets striking the Atlas, as Turner unleashed his own payload. The Atlas turned to the new threat, robotic legs tearing deep furrows into the earth as it ground to a halt, before turning on its axis and giving chase.

The two of them played this cat and mouse for some time, one of them switching from attacking the Titan to gunning down any Militia footsoldiers who moved to assist their Titan clad ally. Eventually the loud pop of the energy shield failing reverberated through the maze of mechanical structures and corpses followed by a screaming streak of fire as the Atlas caught a heavy rocket to the exposed sections of the robot. As the machine caught fire it started to retreat catching several shots from Decker's charge rifle before the Pilot ejected. A large plume of smoke shooting into the air as the ejector seat and pilot peeled away from each other. The pilot activated his cloak as they rapidly descended, the only thing that gave away their position was the firing of a jumpkit to stem the speed of gravity. Spencer moved to fire his rifle when Wardd beat him to it. The iconic cracks of the G2A4 sounding in the distance as the pilot had a sizeable hole punched in his right chest then neck and stomach. The man crumpled on himself falling in a heap amidst the other corpses and wreckage. Shortly afterwards the Atlas imploded, the strained operating system no longer able to effectively sustain the limiters on the energy core.

"If they didn't know we were here before, they do now. Let's get moving." Wardd barked, even as several Goblin and Crow dropships screamed overhead, rushing deeper into the mothyard.

Pushing ahead into a fortified yet oddly understaffed location proved to be oddly challenging. The bulk of the soldiers at this location were pilots, and the few grunts that were on site were veteran soldiers, commando units that operated with much more efficiency than their standard counterparts.

As Omega squad came under fire they hunkered down behind a worn, rectangular concrete barrier, one of many that lined the perimeter of the complex. Turner risked a look over their cover to see a squad of Militia pilots moving in, coordinating their movements with heavy bursts of covering fire. For the few seconds he had his head up they had already cleared 50 meters.

Cursing he ducked back down as a round struck the barrier just inches short of his head. He looked to his left to see Decker gone. A ghostly after image flickering as he faded out of sight. Turner gulped as he heard several soldiers come to a stop at the perimeter of his cover. Looking around he spotted both Spencer and Wardd surrendering.

Turner muttered a curse then stood up as he dropped his Hemlok BF-R. This earned a wicked smile from a Militia pilot. "Aww, well, damn…" One of the pilots hooted, "Looks like these three want the easy way out!"

There was a laugh from another. "Yeah, smartest IMC I've seen all week!" He joked.

A woman with dark skin and long hair approached Turner, "So. How do you want it?" She smiled innocently as she pointed a Hammond P2011 at his chest.

"Well… you're not really to my tastes… but I guess I can settle." Turner joked, biding his time. The woman frowned at his remark however. Scowling she pressed the gun into his temple yanking him down to a knee as she screwed the muzzle into his skin.

"You either want to die right now… or you're fucking stupid!" She hissed.

"Hey, hey… Relax, Relax… You set yourself up for that one Val." one of the Militia pilots said disarmingly, trying to ease the tension of the situation. The woman huffed out an angry breath, throwing Turner to the ground.

"Fine!" She growled, "But I'm shooting him in the dick when this is over."

"Yeah, yeah. Put a lid on it hothead. Let's ju-"

"Wait. Weren't there four of em?" The fourth pilot spoke up. Quickly surveying the surrounding area.

"They probably took off like the cowards they are."

Turner took this moment to open a private channel with Spencer and Wardd as the background shimmered. "You two seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Yep." Came their reply.

"You guys have that shit-eating grin?"

"Yep." Came their voices again, Spencer stifling a laugh.

As Decker rematerialized behind the four Militia pilots he turned his pistol to the side, the blocky extension on the end of the gun marking the weapon as a smart pistol.

"So I'm not your 'type' huh?" The woman spoke to Turner trying to salvage her wounded pride.

"Nah. I don't date dead chicks." He grinned, watching as the woman's face went from angry to confused and then to panic as a quartet of shots rang out followed by four thuds as the Militiamen dropped dead.

"Damn, Decker…" Spencer whistled. "That was impressive."

"I'm not a 4th gen' pilot for nothing you know…" He muttered as he reloaded his Smart pistol before holstering it.

"Remind me again why you chose this unit if you got skills like that." Turner said humbled and humiliated.

"After Demeter…" He sighed, "I just...Wanted something quieter. Was nice while it lasted..." He said ruefully.

"Was Demeter that bad?" Turner said as the others picked up their weapons and walked back out towards their original target.

"Yes. Now, speaking of Demeter, let's get a move on before we have a repeat of that scenario." Wardd ordered as Turner lagged behind, still slightly dazed from the encounter.

Dispatching the grunts and remaining pilots remained a difficult task. They were dug in well, well armed, at least by Militia standards and showed much more discipline than their marooned cousins. A short but very intense firefight ensued which resulted in Spencer catching shrapnel from an improvised explosive device. He only suffered minor lacerations, but his helmet was badly damaged, half of the visor missing as the remainder had a roadmap of cracks culminating in several jagged edges. He kept the helmet it had already saved his life at least once today. He would hate to test his luck without it.

He did, however, pull his helmet off at Wardd's insistence, allowing Decker to look his wounds over. Decker crouched down to a squat as Spencer sat back against a concrete barrier, looking expectantly at Decker as Wardd and Turner prowled for survivors.

"Hmm…" The skilled pilot mused, turning Spencer's head to and fro. "It's going to leave some nasty scabs, probably pretty uncomfortable. But no permanent scarring. Your hair will grow back." He said, dabbing up some of the streams of blood from his face. "Consider yourself lucky. If you didn't have your helmet on, you'd be dead." Decker said plainly.

"We're clear out here… how's Spencer?" Wardd asked.

"I'm telling you man… Bullet. Magnet." Turner joked in the background.

"He should be fine. Nothing permanent, just some bad scrapes." Decker responded, nodding to Spencer as he put on his damaged helmet and stood up.

"Alright. Get over here. The longer we wait, the more time they have to set up."

As they neared the entrance of the structure Omega squad tensed, voices could be heard inside. The entrance of the structure itself was flat and bare. Just two large doors, ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide, both pushed open to reveal a wall easily sixteen inches thick and a cavernous interior.

From where Omega Squad peered into the building they could see several sandbag and metal barricades manned by several grunts and at least six spectre drones. There were most likely more people spaced out inside the building.

This was a probability that Wardd pointed out as he addressed his squad. "Alright, Spencer, Turner, you two are going to try to head straight to the generator control room. You need to stop them from doing two things: Powering up those ships and overloading the generators. One is disastrous, the other is cataclysmic." When he received a nod of acknowledgement from the two he continued. "Decker and myself will do what we can from here. When we clear out these guys we will meet up with you."

"That's a tall order." Turner commented.

"It will be tough… But we should be able to handle it." Decker concurred.

"I'm not going to argue." Spencer said when the three of them looked towards him, expectantly. "Just…" He sighed. "Be careful, alright. I'd hate to lose two more today."

Wardd placed a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "Hey… It won't come to that." He said reassuringly. "Now go on. You two get out of here."

Turner and Spencer nodded, getting ready to break into a sprint as Decker lobbed an Arc grenade into the middle of the room. As panicked cries of alarm rang out, Spencer and Turner ran into the room and bolted straight for the stairs into the upper floors, towards the control center.

As they reached the midway point on the stairs there was an explosion that drowned out the gunfire below them. A few soldiers attempted to take potshots at the pilots as they bounded up the steps only for the pair to blind fire in the offending direction. Soon they crested the stairs to be met by a pair of Spectre drones.

Spencer threw his entire weight into the machine, tackling it to the ground as he proceeded to smash the machine with the butt of his rifle. Turner slid to a knee, Hemlok-BFR firing three bursts in a raising pattern of clusters of three. The machine seized up before slowly tipping to the left, collapsing in a rigid heap like an overturned mannequin. Meanwhile Spencer continued to smash the other machine's head casing open. Soon smashing the fragile internal components of the construct's head. Only when the machine twitched then ceased did the pilot stop with a huff of finality.

"You done?" Turner asked as his ally stood up with a grunt.

"Yeah…" Spencer huffed. "Let's get moving."

Oddly, there was very little resistance met in the upper levels of the facility, it seemed as if the Militia didn't expect anyone to get this far. Though not from a lack of trying, not if the graveyard outside was any indication. It seemed as if they had consolidated their defenses in the lower floor, as such the few defenders they did encounter were relatively easy pickings.

It wasn't long before they reached the observation platform, overlooking a jungle of heavy cables running for a cluster of ten massive generators. They easily dwarfed Titans, each visible part of the generator tower reaching at least two hundred feet. Spencer stood in amazement, these housed enough power to support several cities during peak hours. Or, alternatively, jumpstart a starship.

As they passed through the heavy airlock that lead to the generator room they felt a heavy static shock followed by tingling and a heavy sense of nausea, literally feeling the electricity in the air. Spencer watched as his damaged HUD winked out of existence and his Holosight flickered before failing as well, followed by the iconic whine of his jumpkit shutting down. He looked to Turner who simply shrugged. As the light at the other end of the airlock burned a bright green, the two gazed to the absurd amount of danger and warning signs.

"Warning: Do not touch the generator casing, contact may result in serious injury and/or vaporization." Turner read incredulously. Shrugging they opened the door, only to wince at the deafening noise as the seal of the door was broken.

"God damn!" Spencer yelled, putting his hand to his throat when he didn't hear his own voice. The noise of the room was so loud it drowned out all other, lesser noises. The two ran ahead at a cautious pace, scanning for any threats on their way to the control booth across the cavernous space.

They ran into a single pilot who was walking around aimlessly, peering down into the abyss below the catwalks that comprised the flooring in this place. Spencer grinned wickedly as he shouldered the pilot in the back. He imagined they made a cry of alarm as they fell off the catwalk, tumbling into the giant yellow casing that covered the generators in the building.

The pilot caught aflame instantaneously before literally popping like a balloon. Spencer recoiled as he was struck with a flaming piece of flesh.

With the only person who was defending the catwalk dead the two moved to another airlock stepping inside and sealing the door which blissfully muted the room.

"Damn!..." Turner called out. "Thought I was going to go deaf in there…" Soon the electric tingle they felt was gone and they two moved to reboot their various electronics. As soon as his radio was back he hailed his team. "Wardd this is Turner. We are in position."

There was a long pause before Wardd spoke, gunfire could be heard in the background. "Good. We're almost done down here." Wardd said distracted. "Shit! Decker! They have a fucking Titan in here!" More gunfire and explosions could be heard. "Damnit. Decker says you two need to either shunt the generators, get them to initiate their failsafe or try and force a power surge to wipe the ship's generators." Wardd said quickly as the sound of an Archer rocket launcher being fired could be heard. "When you finish, get your asses down here, now!"

"Y-yes sir!" Turner slipped.

"Sounds like they're in the shit down there." Spencer muttered darkly. "We shouldn't have split up…"

"Let's just get this done. Then we can help." Turner offered, earning a nod from Spencer.

As the airlock finished it's cycling sequence they stepped into the control room. Several machines hummed and gave the occasional beep as they each performed their own tasks. The pair moved to a large cluster of display screens with a big control desk running the length of the room. Spencer glanced up and down the length then turned to Turner. "Lets look for an emergency override."

As the pair worked, Spencer started typing away at the keyboard. Thankfully it was a lot of point and click. But the amount of information to sift through was daunting.

Eventually he was able to navigate to an energy flow display. The program tracked the amount of energy that each ship was drawing, each represented by a blue line with a little triangle pointing underneath it. Just on the edge of the blue line the triangle danced between a bright red zone adjacent to the blue. It looked like the Militia were almost, but not quite, redlining the system.

"Hey, Turner, see if you can turn the energy flow up." He yelled to the man at the end of the room, scanning the surface of the lengthy control panel.

"Turn it up?!" He spoke incredulously.

"Yeah. See if we can cause a failsafe shutdown." Spencer stated. "Looks like they are right at the edge of redlining these things."

"Ah… Gotcha." Turner yelled, returning to the control panels. A few moments later he spoke up. "Alright, looks like I got it!" He exclaimed as the dull whine and thrum of the generators increased in pitch and intensity before suddenly shutting down. A massive mechanical whine being drawn out as the machines generators spooled down.

The silence was paired with darkness as most of the lights cut off. That was shortly followed by a blaring alarm. The room was cast in darkness, the only light in the room was a single display that pulsated slowly, bathing part of the room in crimson light, the screen reading, "Critical System Overflow. Initiate Generator Restart."

"Alright." Spencer huffed, now being able to talk at a normal volume level. "Let's smash the control's and get the fuck out of here." Spencer started just as the door leading to an outdoor observation platform overlooking the mothyard opened.

"I fucking told you! The IMC were here!" One gruff voice argued. Another spoke shortly afterwards.

"Yeah, and I told you the security downstairs should've been enough." The other retorted. "Let's just see if we can restart the system."

The other grumbled as he stomped his way past where Spencer and Turner hid. Both Militia pilots wore harnesses favored by Militia marksmen. The green foliage around their shoulders and head looking out of place in the industrial setting.

With a thud of a weapon being placed on a solid surface there was the sound of keys on a keyboard rapidly being struck. "Fuckin hell…" One voice groaned. "They activated the failsafe."

"So?" The other pilot complained.

"_Sooo…_ I can't just fucking restart it. We need actual engineers down here." The man scowled.

"That's fucking great… we're gonna catch some serious flak from Graves. And all because _you_ said the IMC wouldn't be a problem." The other sneered out as a mockery.

The two IMC pilots heard the other pilot growl and begin to shout back when Turner and Spencer jumped from their hiding place.

Turner put three bursts into the closest pilot, who made a habit of goading his ally. A series of nine holes spreading out in a vertical zigzag pattern. Spencer on the other hand opened fire in a long automatic burst emptying the majority of his clip into his target.

The pilot jerked with each impact, stumbling backwards to fall back on the computer console with a pained gurgle and a thud. He prodded the corpse with his boot, before delivering a headshot just in case.

"Turner, place a satchel charge here, put 'em on a timer. Can't let them come behind us and restart the generators." Spencer instructed. Turner simply nodded, placing several remote charges throughout the room. With a nod from Turner when he finished his task, the two moved through the airlock and through the blessedly silent generator room.

The heavy clacks on boots on metal was the only sound in the room. Only when they passed through the adjacent airlock did the sound of the world return. As they exited into a suspended box hallway several startled grunts turned to look behind them at the two IMC pilots. One let out a stuttered cry as Turner put a three round burst into the grunt, then the closest adjacent foot soldier, just as Spencer mopped up the other two, firing in short bursts.

"Wardd. Decker. Can you guys hear us?" Turner asked looking over the ledge of the box hallway to the floor, at least sixty feet below them.

There was a crackle of static and background interference before Wardd's tired voice responded. "Yeah. Get your asses on these Militia." He sounded strained. "Now!" He barked.

There was an explosion and the room shook, followed by several smaller explosions as the damaged Atlas had fired a cluster rocket in close quarters.

Below them they saw both parties scrambling for cover. Even the Titan backed away, wary of getting caught in its own ordinance.

"You guys stay down, I'm going to hit em with a sidewinder." Spencer alerted as he unclasped and toggled the safety off of his Sidewinder.

"Danger close!" Decker yelled as gunfire, presumably his, nearly drowned him out.

Spencer grumbled to himself, but tried to be mindful of his splash zones, firing only four to five rockets at a time. He repeated this until his magazine was empty, slapping in his last drum for the weapon and firing again.

He watched his micro-rockets splash against the shield before overloading it and detonating against hardened steel armor. The Titan, facing opposition from multiple directions, dashed backwards as it deployed electric smoke.

Several screams and wet crunches could be heard as the pilot inadvertently crushed its allies in retreat. Meanwhile Decker and Wardd bailed out of the building, followed by Turner and Spencer, who narrowly avoided the expanding plume of electricity.

As the four continued to fall back they stopped in the graveyard to hunker down and catch their breath. As they all drew ragged breaths, Spencer spoke. "Hey Turner… how long for those ti-" He started, just as a muffled thump was heard and felt, a portion of the facility starting to billow smoke. "...Nevermind." Spencer muttered.

"Good job…" Wardd huffed, "Looks like our mission parameters are clear. Let's head out for our missing teammat-" Wardd started as Spencer bolted off.

Activating his adrenaline stimulant system he weaved and vaulted over various bits of debris and wreckage. As he neared the edge of a housing development he fired his jumpkit, placing himself over a wall as he bounded down the alleyways and streets, passing through enemy lines and back towards the IMC controlled section of the battlefield.

He only stopped to fire upon anyone who got in his way. Taking a shortcut through a fuel station he used his IMC trained parkour skills to reach the top of a radio tower on a building directly behind the fuel station. From this vantage point he could see a downed IMC Goblin, crash landed in a public football field. A large furrow of debris and fire trailed the ship in a deep trench. The hull still smoke and fighting raged in the surrounding area. Spencer spotted two white forms, corpses, that stood out from the vibrant green backdrop.

Spencer look at the surrounding area as a transmission came on over his headset. Although his radio was filled with background noise, popping and static he could make out Wardd's voice. "Spencer! What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm looking for our squad." He growled. Of course Wardd would complain, Spencer tended to do a lot of things that went against the status quo, even more so when his squad was in danger. And as much as Wardd complained he was right in this situation.

"Running off on your own is going to get you killed! Wait for us and we can look together." Wardd ordered.

"Don't worry… I'm not looking to get killed." Spencer drawled as he jumped down from his perch with a huff. Closing his channel to Wardd. He was going to get reprimanded. But the well being of his squad came first.

As he moved closer to the crash site he saw several IMC squads push forward, advancing on the defending Militia and slowly, but surely pushing them back.

He recognized a few of the grunts moving up, raptor squad, then noticed a friendly face. It was Gomez, dirty and battered around the edges, but otherwise no worse for wear. "Gomez!" Spencer cried out in elation.

The pilot ground to a halt to glance about before noticing Spencer. "Damn man… You look like hell…" he started, "What happened?"

"Nothing major… Where are the others?" Spencer asked almost reluctantly.

"Around, I think…" Gomez trailed off. "I've seen Mike and Ricky around. We got separated during the crash, I ended up in a tree. I think Mike landed in a pool behind one of these houses…" he said jerking his thumb behind him. "Don't know how Ricky survived, but… well… It's kinda hard to miss the big guy." Gomez laughed.

Spencer smiled at the news that his squad, his friends, his family, was still alive. Then his heart dropped. "What about Bishop?" He tried to say at an even level of tone.

Gomez visibly flinched, "Haven't seen her around." He admitted truthfully. I'd say check the crash site. "I gotta help Raptor take their next objective. Oh…" Gomez paused. "Wardd sounds pretty pissed at you. Worried too." Gomez offhandedly said as Spencer turned towards the crash site a few hundred feet from his position.

"Tell Wardd I am alright." Spencer said as he broke off for a run towards the ship.

"Will do!" Gomez yelled back as he played catch-up with Raptor squad.

As he neared the halfway point of the crash site he called down his Titan, immediately placing the Auto-Titan OS into guard mode. "Confirmed. Initiating guard mode." Jeeves quipped as the Atlas stood watch over the perimeter of the crash site.

As he neared the crash, he saw that the rear half of the fuselage was nearly crushed and on fire. He grimaced at the sight, but people had survived worse. As he got closer he heard sounds of struggling and a hoarse, frantic and scared voice.

"...H-help… Help me...please!" Spencer recognized the voice as Bishop's and he crouched down low, almost prone to the ground to peer inside the fuselage to see her pinned underneath. An amalgamation of metal paneling and cargo support framework. The fire at the end of the fuselage was also on a slow march to consume the entire vessel.

Spencer switched into overdrive and moved to the front of the Goblin, climbing in through the shattered windshield. The ship was crashed in such a way where the side walls were acting as a slightly angled floor.

Much of the interior was disheveled and damaged. Inside, he saw the corpses of dead flight crew. He pushed past them and down into the fuselage, standing over Bishop who was preoccupied with trying to move the debris off of herself.

As he looked on, examining the wreckage he heard a pained, scared whimper. It sounded as if Bishop was going to cry but that sound soon turned into a frustrated growl of effort. She tensed and tried to forcefully move the debris that trapped her, yet that was to no avail.

"Damn this war… Damn the IMC, I knew this would happen." She muttered to herself, "I trust them again… and then this happens. And now I'm going to die…" she muttered pitifully.

"Nobody's going to die…"Spencer finally spoke, as he knelt down and began to pry pieces of debris away, bending the pieces that would not move.

"I… Wha- Spencer?!" Bishop stammered. "The hell are you doing here?!" She tried to sound angry, but the hope and relief in her voice was palpable.

"I'm getting you out of here. Hang on." The young pilot grunted as he moved yet another piece of metalworking from the pile atop his ally.

"...I thought, they were going to abandon me…" She said softly, barely audible over the crackling of fire and metal screeching against metal. "Again…" She growled, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

Spencer stayed quiet, electing to focus on freeing Bishop. After a few moments of awkward, tense silence he spoke. "So…" He grunted.

"So?" Bishop responded, looking at Spencer.

"How'd you end up like… this?"

Bishop sighed, paused, then spoke. "We took a direct hit from a slaved missile as we were banking at top speeds." Bishop explained, "It took out the aft door, sucking out the other three and some of the crew." She continued, "The shock wave from the blast knocked me out. Then I woke up like... this…"

"Why didn't you radio for help?" Spencer asked.

"My… uh… my radio is busted. I took a nasty hit from explosion tossing me like a ragdoll I think." She said embarrassed. "I damn near split the thing in half." She petered out with a grumble, pausing for a moment before speaking again. "Speaking of helmets… what happened to yours?"

Spencer grunted, "It's been a long day…" was all he offered. As he moved the heaviest piece off of Bishop he strained, grunting and clenching his teeth. "...There!" He heaved, moving to grab Bishop under her arms, pulling her out of the considerably loosened metal pile.

Temporarily drained of strength Spencer fell back on to his butt, Bishop still held under her arms. She sighed quietly in relief, taking a moment to quell the panic that had gripped her for the last thirty minutes.

She soon wiggled out of his slack grasp, "Let go of me. I'm fine now…" turning to face him on her knees. When Spencer simply sighed heavily, shaking his head he stood with a tired sigh. His movements slow and heavy, as if tied down by lead weights.

"Let's get moving then," he said as he stood to the best of his ability in the cramped space. He took a few steps toward the front of the dropship when he heard a thud and a hissed curse. Turning around to help Bishop stand she brushed his hand away.

"I can stand by myself!" She tried to stand, only to fall again.

"You okay there?" Spencer asked as he watched her attempts to stand.

"Y-yeah." She said, trying to stand carefully, her legs wobbling heavily. "...N-no. I don't know." She glowered, "My legs are fucking numb."

"Come on. Let's get out of here." Spencer offered, putting a supporting arm under her arms and around her back.

Bishop pushed him away. "I can do this, okay!" She argued trying to stand and making a few steps before stumbling and buckling down to a knee.

Spencer sighed heavily, running a hand down the front of his damaged helmet before growling. "If you want to be stubborn, fine. But learn to take help when you fucking need it." He said as he forcefully assisted Bishop by taking her weight, hold her tighter when she tried to push away.

"Hey! Get off me!" She protested as he pulled her into the blown out cockpit. Still trying to assert her self reliance she spoke again. "Spencer, let go." He ignored her protests, he had spent time with her long enough to know when to ignore her stubbornness. "Hey! Asshole!" Bishop shouted, punching Spencer in the side, "You're hurting me!"

"I don't care." Spencer rumbled, climbing through the window with Bishop in tow. "Look, was that so fucking hard?"

Bishop simply shoved off of Spencer, who let her go, falling down into the lush green grass.

Spencer repressed the urge to lash out at her and instead hailed Wardd. "I have Bishop. She's unable to stand at the moment. Needs circulation back in her legs." He said as soon as the channel connected.

Wardd sighed, waited a moment then spoke. "You have to stop pulling shit like that Spencer…"

"Sorry. You know how I get when it comes to the squad."

"So you endanger the rest by going off on your own?" Wardd snapped. "By putting yourself at risk?"

"If its any consolation… I did save her from certain death." Spencer shamefully apologized. "We're at the sports field."

"Good. That's where we're headed. Our mission is done here. We are getting an evac. Sit tight."

As Omega boarded the drop ship and pulled off into the sky the four looked over the mothyard to see a portion of it go up in flames as a warship's engine's powered up. The massive rectangular mass arcing up in a rapid ascension to orbit, soon after the radio channels became filled with chatter. The IMC had won the battle but somehow, the Militia had made off with the prize. Spencer looked down into the raging inferno that was the size of a city block down inside the mothyard, he felt a pang of regret at the loss of life down there, but knew that was only the beginning of the atrocities of war that were to come. And with a grimace he closed his eyes and waited for the trip to the IMS Eden to end.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Sorry for the long delay between this chapter and the last. I've been pretty busy and my comp died. I have a new computer now and a little more time in my schedule to work on my hobbies. This chapter felt a little rushed to me (I had started on it months ago then my computer died) hopefully the tone/characters stay consistent... Anyways thanks for the read. Let me know what you think!**

December 6, 1101 Hours

Spencer craned his head up from its rest on his arms, looking to his right at the sound of a magnetically sealed door hissing open. Glancing to Bishop, her half shorn mane of hair still damp as she laid her towel to drape across her shoulders. Spencer gave a grunt as he returned his gaze to bore a hole through the ceiling of their room with sheer willpower.

After a few tense moments he fidgeted before reluctantly angling his head to look at Bishop with an exasperated sigh. She scowled as she rolled her eyes, silently trotting across the room to the bunk parallel to his own. Bending to pull a set of dust gray BDUs on over her toned legs. He ignored the normally alluring sight, turning with indifference to the wall on his left, resuming his bout of staring.

The sounds of pants being hiked up followed by the thud and rustle of boots being donned was prevalent in the background, overshadowing the ambient noise of the cruiser and the thrum of engines the size of skyscrapers. Eventually he heard the footsteps close to the edge of his bunk and with a growl he turned to see Bishop towering over his prone form, staring down her nose as him with an intense, but emotionally vacant, expression, a subtle frown creasing her features.

The crushing weight of being examined fell upon Spencer as he stared into her vibrant green eyes, just a touch of yellow brightening the orbs that were usually a cold, piercing stare. Gazing down at the man she let out a little huff then spoke. "We need to talk." Her voice was hard but there was the faintest hint of a reassuring smile on her face.

Suppressing a grumble he sat up, leaving space for Bishop to sit down. She took the silent offer tentatively. Seating herself a foot or so away from Spencer, who turned, gave her a rough smile, the kind that she could tell was forced, but out of trying to be polite and exhaled a somewhat strained, "I'm all ears…"

Bishop nodded, turned away from him to look at the tiny bathroom across the room. "I wanted to apologize." She stated, "...For my behavior... I also wanted to thank you for saving me. I don't blame you for the way the way you're acting. The way _we_ have been acting. But… Things are bad enough with the IMC… I don't want, don't need to feel stressed out in one of the few areas I can just escape from it all…" She offered a wan smile.

Spencer felt a burning sensation in his face, then awkwardly responded. "I…" He started before his vocabulary failed him. He took a breath, held it, then spoke on the exhale. "I'm sorry for my behavior... It's just that... I was worried, I thought you guys had died… when I found you, I was relieved, to be honest. But you were so stubborn, even in your time of need. Sure, we were both stressed, and that didn't help the situation at all, but when you just cast aside my help… I… I don't know." He deflated a bit, "I was so mad. I kind of snapped. And my actions since then have been immature. I'm sorry." He petered out as he rubbed the back of his neck, he felt like he was rambling at this point.

Bishop grinned. "Yeah, you were being a little bitch…" She mused, laughing when Spencer frowned, adding, "But so was I." She smiled wistfully. "...So...uh… No hard feelings?" She offered awkwardly.

"Yeah, no hard feelings."

"Well… uh…" Bishop mumbled. "That went better than expected."

"What do you mean 'better than expected'?" Spencer chagrined.

"I sort of expected us to be arguing in here." She admitted.

Spencer sighed, with an embarrassed smile, lips pursed into a tight line. He could see the scenario playing out in his head. "Now that you mention it… I could see that."

"So…" Bishop trailed off, tone indicative of someone prying for information, or looking for gossip. "Why did you risk life and limb for me?" She smiled innocently but couldn't keep the mischievous look out of her eyes.

Spencer opened his mouth to give his answer when Bishop interrupted him.

"I want a real answer, not that bullshit you usually give me." She snapped. "I… I think I deserve to know."

Spencer paused. He didn't know how to respond. He couldn't just say "Because I think I might have a crush on you." That wasn't a real answer, it would also make things super awkward. He gave her a look he wasn't sure what it was but it must have looked weird. He was panicking internally and was quite embarrassed. He took another deep breath, let out a long sigh and stared at Bishop. Her usual smug grin died when Spencer did not crack his own.

He dreadfully began to speak. She deserved to know what he thought the reason was for his eagerness to put himself at risk. He was saved from relaying this information when a missive was transmitted ship-wide, through the ship's intercom system.

"All pilots to the War Room, all pilots to the War Room." The disembodied voice echoed metallically throughout the room even as Wardd opened the door.

"Come on you two." He jerked his head down the hallway. "Let's go."

Spencer looked to Bishop and shrugged, moving to stand until she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. You owe me an explanation." Her voice wavered slightly, she looked frustrated.

"I'll tell you. I promise. When we have free time." Spencer said warmly.

Bishop parted her lips to speak but thought better of it. Looking away and pushing him back as she stood, Bishop gave him a wan smile, "I'm going to hold you to that."

Spencer gave an awkward grin and followed through the doorway, after Bishop and Wardd. The trip was brief, past gossipped whispers from grunts and excited murmurs. Soon they reached the heavy bulkhead that formed one of the outer walls of the War Room.

A pair of fully armed pilots and two spectre drones stood on guard. The pilots wore the patches of Apex Predators, Commander Blisk's elite unit. If they were onboard then so must their commander. As they neared the two pilots looked at them with faint twitches of their head. "These your men, _sergeant_?" One of them rumbled.

"Lieutenant Blacke know you're talking to a superior officer like that?" Wardd commented as he brushed past the two.

"How would you know Blacke?" One of the men asked, sticking his arm out to bar his path.

"If you don't know, you obviously don't need to know." Wardd muttered. "Now, move your arm before I break it."

"Answer my fu-" The man's demand was cut short as his upper arm was snapped then twisted, causing a severe compounded fracture. The guard dropped his weapon as he clutched his disabled limb in agony. The man hissed through his teeth and attempted to rise only to receive a rough boot to the helmet that echoed with a crack that reverberated down the hall.

The entire exchange hadn't been longer than ten seconds and one of the guards was already incapacitated. Wardd sighed, then glanced imploringly at the other guard who had drawn their weapon. "Your friend here needs some medical attention… he's going to bleed out in a few minutes if you don't help him." Wardd grunted as he showed his ID to the waiting spectre drones that flanked the door.

The drones scanned his ID before opening the door wirelessly for Omega squad.

"...Damn, Wardd… that was a little, excessive don't you think?" Turner spoke.

"Sorry. Blisk just gets me angry." Wardd sighed as they passed the threshold into the War Room. The foot thick doors parting heavily, breaking the soundproof seal on the room. Inside the darkened interior the sound of a heated exchange could be heard.

"-not try to skirt around the fact that not only did you _fail_, you cost us thousands of men and drones!" A feminine voice yelled with an air of superiority. "You asked for additional resources, and when you had them you still failed."

"We won that battle, they lost more men than us and only made off with one ship!" The blond haired man known as Blisk barked back.

"The Militia's losses are negligible. In the final moments of that operation we lost an entire regiment. That doesn't even compare to the losses the Militia suffered." The woman stated coldly.

"Those losses wouldn't have happened if the support I was given actually did their jobs. My men were denied key areas of the battlefield from artillery that _your_ forces were supposed to neutralize." Blisk turned his anger towards Captain North.

"My men had to be retasked. I lost twenty-four good pilots, three squads, trying to secure a perimeter for your men. I almost lost another squad, Omega, trying to make sure your mission went as smoothly as possible." Captain North glared back at Blisk. North glanced at Omega Squad as they took an open spot in the amphitheater like War Room.

"You're late." Was all North muttered. Wardd simply grimaced in a way that suggested embarrassment.

"Who are they? More of your 'precious soldiers'?" Blisk sneered.

"Permission to speak, sir?" Wardd asked as he shot North a look out of the corner of his eye, having a stare down with Blisk.

"Granted."

"Sergeant Howard Wardd, Omega squad's commanding officer." Wardd spoke pointedly, nearly growling.

"Ah, so tell me. How the hell you fucked up your simple mission so badly."

"Well… _sir_. My men were originally ordered to neutralize the Militia's two main artillery sites, as well as their communications centers. After half of my squad was listed as MIA we secured one of the two communication arrays before being retasked due to heavy loses." Wardd drawled, eyes never leaving Blisk's. "The remainder of my squad then took the main generator facility from Militia hands. A job intended for two squads of pilots and an attachment of grunts…" Wardd paused. "We did it with four pilots, one of which was injured." He glanced to Spencer.

"So… What? I'm just supposed to think that because you had it hard you're free of fault?"

"No. We completed our mission, against unlikely odds. Something you couldn't do, even with overwhelming firepower and numbers on your side."

"No. If you 'completed your mission' they wouldn't have escaped with any ships at all!" Blisk hissed, trying to shift the blame.

"My squad prevented Demeter from repeating itself. Something that happened under your command."

"DEMETER WAS NOT MY OPERATION!" Blisk yelled.

"You were the field commander of the mission. It was your job to keep the planet same from the Militia. I would know, because I was there." Wardd shot back.

Blisk fumbled for words, his face a deep red as he seethed with anger. "I s-"

"Enough!" The woman shooter out. "We didn't come here to hear you two have a pissing match." She sighed exasperatedly. Giving the two bickering men stares that could down a Titan she continued on.

"Commander Blisk. In light of recent events, you will not be given full control over any further joint operations within this system. Furthermore, as of Directive Olympus, your position as a commander is now under evaluation. Should you fail to improve in your efforts to effectively command IMC assets your employment may be terminated or you may be reassigned." She listed off. "Intel suggests that the Militia will try to either take control of, or destroy, the robotics manufacturing facility in Storett." She motioned to Captain North indicating for him to speak.

"Storett's robotics facility is the largest in the frontier. Even larger than the Hammond Robotics headquarters further out… This is because it produces everything from machinery, aircraft and land vehicles to marvins, drones, spectres, and titans. Both military and civilian purpose... Due to the warfront getting closer I have directed them to ramp up their production of combat related assets. They are an invaluable resource for us in the frontier…" North paused, looking around the room at the gathered pilots and officers. "That also means it's valuable to the Militia. They will try to take it from us. And if they can't do that… They'll destroy it."

"We obviously can't let that happen." The woman spoke. "So, with that in mind we will be on the defensive. Again. Blisk, your forces, along with Captain North's will be working in tandem on this one. Our main fleet will be providing air superiority."

"Two battle groups isn't going to be enough for something this important. The Militia is going to hit it with everything they've got." Blisk complained.

"Well, if North's data is correct, you should have plenty of Auto-Titans, as well as spectre drones to assist you."

"They haven't sent off their last few batches because of what happened on Cysus. So we should have about six hundred Titans on standby. Spectre drones should be numbered in the thousands, maybe two or three, give or take a few hundred."

"Auto Titans are impressive. But they aren't going to stop the Militia."

"These aren't your average Titans… they have improved Operating Systems, upgraded targeting systems, better servo motors… These are better in almost every way." North dismissed Blisk's concerns. "We've already retrieved a small handful of the machines and prepped them for launch. In the meantime, I will be securing the perimeter of the facility."

"Right, my own forces will be securing the city itself. Blisk, your forces are to bolster North's." The woman spoke with finality, turning to the pilots in the room, she spoke, "Pilots, you are to report to your respective Executive Officers receive further orders. Dismissed."

With that a collective murmur broke out as Pilots and personnel alike filtered out of the room.

Spencer glanced about to see his squad forming a loose circle, beginning what looked like a headcount. Shrugging, he followed suit, meeting with his squad.

"Everyone here?" Wardd asked rhetorically. "Let's meet with North, see what he wants us to do." He said with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"Something wrong?" Decker asked, sensing Wardd's unease.

"Not really… I just feel like the Militia might do something drastic. They tried something during the last op' and that wasn't even that important to us." Wardd mused aloud. "So you can understand my unease when I think of what they might pull."

"And what did you have in mind?" The officer from earlier asked, as she strode confidently towards the squad, an air of authority around her.

She was flanked by two pilots, using sleeker armor than those currently in use in the frontier, their dark grey and yellow color schemes complimented by white armor plates on the shoulder and calves of their harness. They must have been vanguard units, their color scheme matched those of the special forces out in the Origin System. So whoever this woman was, she must have been important.

"Ma'am." Wardd stumbled as he snapped to attention, offering a salute.

She gave a warm, almost motherly smile and laughed, "At ease, Sergeant." She then turned to her vanguard. "You two are dismissed for the moment." She watched as they saluted and left, turning on their heels. "You were expressing your concern about the next mission?"

"Yes ma'am… I just think they will use… extreme tactics during our next mission." Wardd sighed as he cherry picked his words. "The mission is important enough…"

"That it is…" She agreed, "... But despite the adversity, I have high hopes for you and your men." She praised. "And while I wish you luck, I did not come here for idle chatter. I am requesting an audience with one of your soldiers, after your briefing with Captain North." She spoke seriously. "Also, I wanted to thank your squad personally. Blisk may not be the most humble or appreciative person, but well, I think we are all grateful for what your squad managed to accomplish during the previous mission. So even if he won't say it. Thank you, on behalf of the IMC, and the lives you saved."

"Thank you for the praise, ma'am." Wardd nearly muttered.

"No thanks needed, just remember, I will send one of my vanguard to retrieve, one of your squadmates after your briefing." She ended ominously, turning swiftly to stride across, then out of, the War Room, the heels of her shoes clacking against the polished metal floor.

Spencer looked to Wardd who shrugged in response, before leading his squad into the smaller, but still cavernous briefing room, situated within a sealed corner of the War Room.

The entire briefing Spencer's mind was preoccupied, racing as he contemplated further and further about what that woman could possibly want. It wasn't until he they had left the briefing room that Spencer was able to be shaken out of his trance-like state.

"Ay, yo, Spencer. You okay? You're zoning out… just staring off into space." Gomez said as he waved a hand in front of Spencer's face. Spencer blinked, then turned to Gomez, "Yeah. I was just thinking about what that one woman wanted."

"I don't know… Think one of us is in trouble?" Gomez shrugged.

"No… If we were in trouble you would be confronted by a Disciplinary Officer… or Captain North." Decker answered, "Unless you were in some real deep shit. Which is pretty hard to do anyways. But I don't know. … At any rate, speculation won't help us."

"Speaking of…" Fannuchi rumbled under his breath, as a pilot dressed in the dark garb of the Vanguard unit marched to their little group. The pilot wore a little silver patch sewn into their uniform sleeve, a small "G-5" branded into the little metal badge. The pilot stood for a moment then turned to Wardd.

"Howard." The voice rumbled, amplified through their helmet speakers.

"Isaac." Wardd responded in kind, voice even toned.

"It's been awhile. How's Veronica? Treating her well?" The voice continued in it's bass-heavy voice.

"Fine. You're an Uncle." Wardd was just as measured.

There was a light chuckle from the pilot. "Me… an Uncle…" There was another chuckle before the voice spoke again. "Never thought I'd see the day…"

"Me either, to be honest." Wardd sighed with melancholy in his voice. "I wasn't their for his birth." He smiled tightly.

"A shame." The other agreed, shaking their head slightly. "Anyways… as much as I want to catch up… I've a job to do." The pilot huffed. "I'm here, for you…" He turned pointing a finger at Omega's newest member. "'Bishop', right? Come with me." He said turning away, with Bishop, confused, reluctant, but compliantly following. "Oh, were you the one who incapacitated one of my men?" He asked, continuing before Wardd could respond. "Show some restraint, don't let it happen again… Sergeant." He continued on a little further before stopping to look at Wardd, "Oh… And treat my sister right. Or I'll find you." He said lightheartedly, but the underlying threat was completely serious. He simply chuckled at Wardd's flustered glare as he walked off with Bishop in tow.

The pilot was quiet most of the trip across the ship, only turning to look over his shoulder occasionally.

Bishop responded with a scowl to each of his cursory glances, giving an exasperated sigh, when he asked her, "Just a heads up, there hasn't been many requests for an officer to review another's soldier personally. So you either did something really good, or really bad."

Quietly, almost under her breath, she muttered, "I figured as much…"

The remainder of the walk was silent, even as she was escorted into an observation room on the aft of the ship, the burn of the rear thrusters casting a ghostly blue into the room to blend with the cold white lights above. Inside sat a woman, her hair pulled into a loose bun, she sat with her back to Bishop, staring out of the window to stare at the stars and planets in the backdrop as well as a few listing IMC cruisers.

"Welcome, pilot. You go by the name… 'Bishop', correct?" The woman asked placing some files and a data slate on the long table behind her, turning her swivel chair to face the pilot.

"Quite an interesting file you have, Private." She said lifting a small folder of information. Well, what little info there is…" The woman's voice picked up a bit of an edge, but otherwise remained calm and measured. "Like your recruitment, that information is missing. Care to explain how and why you joined the IMC's private military force?"

Bishop frowned, "I didn't have much of a choice. It was 'serve or rot in a cell'." She stated bluntly.

"I see… and what caused you to be put in such a…" She trailed off, looking for the appropriate word. "...Predicament?" She finished, expression hard.

Bishop paused, thinking of the best way to give an infuriatingly cryptic response. "My interests clashed with those of the IMC."

The other woman sighed, accepted that her current approach was getting her nowhere and changed tact. "How were you recruited?"

"You can thank my wingman for that." Bishop said casually, folding her arms.

"Ah, yes. Pilot A310395-DSK151" She mused, eyes skimming over line of information on a small data slate she held in her hand. "Tell me about them, how did they recruit you?"

Bishop ground her teeth, "What, is he just a bunch of numbers and letters to you?"

"As far as I'm concerned?" She paused, "Yes. He is but an asset, a valuable one, but an asset nonetheless for the IMC to use for as long as his contract allows." The woman raised an eyebrow at Bishop's response. "Why? Should I consider this pilot as anything but?"

"How about a human being!? These people aren't just robots to throw at a problem and discard when they break!" Bishop had to clench her hands to try and bleed the excess anger out of her system. She knew the IMC could be cold and calculated, that's what made them so efficient. But to hear someone disregard the humanity of another person so casually set her off.

"I will forgive your outburst as you have not been with the IMC for very long…" The woman blinked, "But you will address me with the proper respect and authority my position commands. Now, answer my question." Bishop could hear the raising irritation in her voice and see the cold anger in her eyes as she stared at the pilot.

"Spencer recruited me after a failed attempt to destroy the IMS Eden. He saved me, made sure I was patched up and gave me an ultimatum. 'Join the IMC or rot in a jail cell for a _very_ long time.' He also talked me out of fighting until my last breath." Bishop said in annoyance.

The officer took notes on her data slate with a murmured "I see", punctuating her actions. "And he was assigned as your wingman correct?" She asked rhetorically. "Well that explains a majority of your missing information. So, I'm going to have your fill any missing fields to the best of your ability. The forms have been forwarded to your cabin." The woman droned, not looking up from her slate, fingers tapping away in a flurry of faint hums of haptic feedback.

Bishop rolled her eyes. "Was that all?" She huffed, annoyed, "You could have gotten that information from the disciplinary officer."

The woman placed the slate on her lap quietly. "No… there was another reason. I had a hunch, but now that I've had a chance to talk to you… I'm certain." She took a deep breath to steel her resolve. "I wanted to ask for a chance to be part of your life again." She offered a wan smile.

"You had your chance at Dad's funeral two years ago…" Was all Bishop said as she stood up and walked towards the exit of the observation room.

The woman, her mother frowned, but to Bishop's surprise it was one born of sadness than anger or malice. "What happened to the young, kind woman I used to know?" She asked softly, so soft she most likely didn't intend for her daughter to hear.

"She died when the IMC abandoned her." She didn't need to elaborate upon the dig at her mother, the slight flinch from Bishop's words were sign enough that her message got across.

"The Militia has changed you… they took my daughter away from me."

"And you let them."


	15. Chapter 15

December 6, 1427 Hours

Spencer would've described Bishop as being "upset" if she didn't have a murderous cast to her expression. She fumed silently, staring at Spencer who reclined on his bunk, browsing various websites lazily.

Bishop strode over to where he lay and plucked the tablet from his hands with a gentleness that belied her anger. She quietly stabbed away at the display, huffing with anger as she tapped away and flicked through various pages and screens.

Spencer wanted to complain about his taken tablet but thought against it, preferring that his head stay attached to his shoulders. Instead he elected to watch silently as she slowly became angrier the longer she did whatever she was doing. With a ragged breath somewhere between a sigh and a growl she turned to Spencer.

He could see the moisture in her eyes even as she shoved his tablet into his chest. "Here." Bishop's voice was an angry mutter.

Taking the tablet he placed it off to his side and instead looked to Bishop. "Hey," he trailed off, "What's wrong?" He asked concerned. He had seen her angry, seething even, but never to the point of tears.

She glowered at him, moving to say she was fine but instead shook her head with a rueful smile. "Some bitch wants back into my life, now that it's convenient." She stated simply.

Spencer placed a hand on her back, rubbing comforting circles as he spoke. "I can tell you aren't in the mood to talk right now… But I'm here when you need me."

He almost expected her to scoff and shrug his arm away. But instead she responded with a strained smile, wiping the excess moisture from her eyes as she uttered a simple "Thanks."

December 7, 1102 Hours

"Hostile Pilot has ejected." Jeeves reported as a white contrail of an ejector seat peeled away from a dark speck high above the ground. Spencer angled his XOTBR-16 up and fired a short burst, the dark speck exploding into a hail of red mist and fleshy chunks. "Hostile Pilot eliminated."

Spencer glanced about his environment, Titan panning left, then right as he searched the area. Finding the war torn stretch of land his Titan resided on devoid of life he check his radio. "Lima 1-1 this is Omega 5-1. Status report." He spoke as his Titan thrummed, reactor idling as it stood awaiting input from its operator.

The only response to his call was the silent crackle of radio static. He watched as his motion tracker flashed, twelve Ares class titans stomping past his location, his own Titan identifying each machine as a friendly Auto-Titan. "Well, wherever they're going… they're fuckin' something up." He sighed, moving to try his radio again when a message blared through his helmet. "Spencer!" Bishop yelled, gunfire interrupted her speech before she continued on. "Lima is dead. I'm about to get overrun here."

The corporal pulled up a sat-map of the area, pinpointing his wingman. "On my way. What happened to the others?"

"There's only a few grunts left of Lima, all of them wounded. I have a few other pilots with me but we're hunkering down. Getting hit hard." She muttered a curse under her breath as the _clak clak clak_ of a sidearm was heard.

"Where is the rest of the squad?" He asked as he dashed around a corner, firing on a group of Militia grunts as they attempted to cross the street. He watched as the 20mm rounds make short work of the lightly armored infantry.

"Militia pushed into the facility somehow, so they're helping out there." She sounded strained then there was a snap and an exhale of breath. "My relief hasn't come yet so I'm still holding out." A pause, more gunfire, "Surprised you didn't go with them."

"Well somebody had to hold the line..." He sighed with spite m, recalling how Wardd had told him to "Hold the area." as he took the rest of the squad with him. "I'm almost there."

"Gotc- SHIT!" His wingman yelled over the radio as Jeeves piped up.

"Alert: Hostile Titanfall detected. Warning, we are outnumbered two to one." Spencer looked up to see the energy rings that the Militia Titans left as their warpfall engine teleported the machines a few hundred feet above their drop zones. These were followed by a pair of crow dropships, ziplines pulling taught as they anchored into the earth below. Several squads of soldiers zipped down the line, moving behind the advancing Titans.

Spencer looked over to see the Titans begin to open fire on a partially submerged basement one of the walls collapsed, allowing entry into the lower levels of the building.

After a quick check of his munitions and finding them within acceptable parameters, the corporal moved his Titan to engage.

"Jeeves, status report, Damage Core." Spencer ordered as he switched his radio from Bishop's private channel to the local frequency.

Tracking his targets from between the buildings he was walking behind, he pulled his control yoke to his right, settling over a Militia Stryder and opening fire.

The heavy bass and vibration of the 20mm chaingun shook the entire machine as the thunderous cracking report of automatic gunfire answered the Militia's advance.

The first few rounds caught one of the Titans, the slugs nearly disintegrating as they impacted with the Stryder's energy shield. This had the desired effect of drawing the attention of the Militia Titans and causing the infantry to frantically scatter.

Dashing backwards and strafing around the corner of an adjacent building, the corporal moved his Atlas in a sprint towards the far end of the apartment complex he was in. He paused as his Titan stepped over the ten foot privacy wall.

"Alert: We are being engaged by multiple hostile Titans." Jeeves reported as rounds from a 40mm Cannon began to drain his shields. Spencer turned to use his vortex shield just as his Titan's energy shield depleted. The force of the impact caused his Titan to stagger back. He looked to see the culprit as an Ogre with a Plasma railgun. He cursed as he dashed back and to the left as Several unguided Archer Heavy Rockets screamed by his Titan, missing by scant inches.

In a panic he placed his Vortex shield up, catching a hail of small caliber rounds as well as a group of 40mm shells and a pair of Archer rockets. As the bullets were realigned within the magnetic field placed before him, the corporal's shields slowly began to inch back to life.

He opened fire, Atlas shooting its XO-16 one handed, targeting the Stryder. Half of his rounds managed to hit their intended target, the others tearing deep furrows in the dirt.

As the firing mechanism on his chaingun locked back, his Vortex field failed, unleashing the suspended munitions with a final pulse of energy before the super magnets along his Titan's left arm closed with a series of metallic clicks, covers snapping down as the magnet's batteries recharged. The Stryder took the brunt of the charge, shields failing and some of the armor plates shearing off.

He followed up with one of his shoulder mounted missile pods, rapidly unleashing a salvo of shaped warheads. The majority of the young pilot's salvo connected with the Stryder, explosive tips blossoming into a roiling cloud of fire, smoke and shrapnel.

The Militia Stryder in question staggered as it was engulfed in smoke, the majority of its olive drab armor either missing or blackened by soot. Visible flames and arcs of electricity dotted the wounded metal behemoth.

Spencer dumped his empty ammunition drum and began to feed a new drum into his chaingun when the Stryder began to open fire, placing a successful shot on Spencer's Atlas, dropping his recharging shield in a single blow.

Spencer cursed, dashed away and back into the line of fire of the Ogre. Spencer dodged the Plasma bolts that greeted him, focusing his attention on the Stryder, emptying another drum until the Titan went rigid. The Stryder stood with forearms parallel to the cockpit as the Pilot ejected.

"Alert: Enemy Pilot has ejected." Jeeves reported.

"Spencer!" Bishop huffed over the radio. "Hold out for a little while longer!" She barked. "We're coming to h-" She started before a gruff voice in the background interrupted her.

"REINFORCEMENTS! GET DOWN!" The voice yelled, as several drop pods crashed into the ground, opening to unleash several squads of Militiamen.

Spencer cursed as he watched more soldiers make it across the field. He turned to the Ogre which was reloading its own weapon. He depressed the trigger on his control yoke, his Titan responded in kind, firing its main weapon.

The XO-16 thumped round after round of 20mm armor piercing rounds, making short work of the shield then starting to whittle down the integrity of the up armored machine. Spencer growled when the Ogre returned fire, its stronger rounds making short work of Spencer's modest armor plating.

Jeeves reported several failing systems as Spencer unloaded his two remaining rocket pods, with the majority of the explosives finding their mark. The Ogre fired its own shoulder ordinance, Slaved Warheads, the smart targeting algorithms within the missiles guiding the aerodynamic explosives to the IMC Atlas before them, blowing several armor plates off and severely damaging the internal systems of the machine.

"Warning: Critical damage sustained. I recommend a tactical withdrawal." Jeeves blared as several warning klaxons sounded within the confined space of the cockpit.

Spencer's fight had forced him to where Bishop was holding out. The Militia in the area had initially scattered, not wanting to risk getting stepped on, but now they were taking pot-shots at the IMC Titan. He looked to the Ogre through the partially shattered, static filled viewport of his Atlas and continued his assault on the olive machine. The ogre was in a similar state, catching both of the rocket salvos Spencer had fired as well as two drums of 20mm rounds had left the robot in bad shape.

With one of his available dashes he boosted forward and brought fist to exoskeleton, tearing away the external armor just underneath the cockpit of the Ogre. The force of the impact caused the Ogre to slide backwards, feet digging fifteen feet of shallow trenches in the green grass.

As he placed his Titan into a sprint to intercept the Ogre he caught an Archer rocket from a Militia anti-armor team. That proved to be the killing blow as Jeeves bordered what remained of his viewport with digital hazard tape. "Reactor overload imminent. Eject. Eject. Eject."

Spencer drowned out Jeeves' repeat warnings and continued his charge forward.

"Spencer! What the hell are you doing?!" Bishop screamed as she watched his nearly skeletal Atlas stride forward even as fires and exposed electrical arcs and thick black smoke vented from the vulnerable, exposed internal systems to his Titan.

She watched as his Atlas jammed the barrel of its XO-16 into the hole in the Ogre's armor before pulling the trigger. 20mm rounds punched through the weaker internal armor and out the top of the Ogre with a shower of sparks and blood, the Atlas managed to get about seven shots out before the Ogre's Auto-Titan took over. In the Ogre's final moments it managed to latch onto both of the Atlas's arms, grabbing the machine by the shoulders and delivering a fatal kick to the Atlas's cockpit.

Bishop watched in horror as the scream of metal shearing pierced the din of combat as the front of the Atlas sported a huge dent to the cockpit as the machine staggered back several yards before it went rigid and fell back, armless. The whine of the reactor dying was the only sound from the Atlas, even as the Ogre took two steps back before teetering over.

Bishop felt her breath catch in her throat. She had never seen one of her squadmates die, let alone one of her friends. The same dreadful feeling of watching her father slip away flooding back to her. Only the voice of the IMC Vanguard pilots screaming into their headsets roused her from her momentary stupor.

"Olympus Actual, Olympus Actual! This is Angel 3-1, We have a friendly Titan down! I repeat we have a friendly Titan down! We are at risk of being overrun! We need an immediate evac!" One of the Titans barked as Bishop pulled her smart pistol back up, downing a squad of overzealous grunts who were beginning to advance.

From inside his Atlas Spencer was stunned. It was dark and the sound of gunfire could be heard outside his metal shell. The only light inside the crushed cockpit coming from his Armor's lights and the sunlight that filtered through the gaps in the now mangled armor plates. He focused to the viewport, darkened and faceted into a million tiny shards, a massive chunk of twisted glass and metal a few centimeters from his helmet. He carefully craned his head to where his rifle was, only to find it smashed. He grimaced, and began shimmying his way out of the very tight squeeze. He considered himself lucky, or blessed, perhaps a combination of the two, the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he should be dead.

As he dragged himself out of his seat with a symphony of clinks as glass shards were misplaced, he found enough space to roll over onto his stomach, looking forward to see the ejection hatch of his Atlas. Inching forward the corporal grasped the emergency manual release lever and yanked hard. Thankfully the explosive bolts still worked and with a loud pop the hatch blew away from the husk of the machine to tumble twice in the air, end over end before bouncing off the ground once before disappearing in the tall grass.

Quickly, Spencer pulled himself from the wreck to see a grunt beginning to level his weapon. Spencer tackled the man, earning a winded yelp of surprise as Spencer mounted the now prone soldier. In a deft movement he had removed his sidearm from his chest holster and placed several shots into the man.

Grabbing the fallen soldier's weapon, a R-97 submachine gun, he frowned at the gun in his hands. Far from his ideal weapon. "Beggars can't be choosers…" he muttered, disappointment lacing his words as he clambered off of the corpse.

He scrambled next to his Titan, hunkering behind its mangled left flank. He heard several bullets strike the downed behemoth, peering above his cover when the shooting stopped. He saw several grunts make gestures and hand movements, pointing to his position.

The corporal placed the barrel of his stolen R-97 on the husk of his Titan and fired a short burst of rounds, striking one grunt in the shoulder as the rest of the rest of his shots went wide. The pilot grinned when the grunts took cover but cursed when he received retaliatory fire from another group of grunts.

He grumbled a string of curses under his breath and waited once again for the shooting to die down. He took a moment to glance about his current location, watching several foot soldiers get cut down in a swath of bullets from the defending IMC pilots a few meters away from him. He glanced to where the shooting was coming from and back to his location. His HUD identifying the distance as 30.17 Meters. Impossible to cross unscathed with the amount of crossfire going on. He sighed and switched his channel back over to his private connection to his wingman.

"-n't know if you can hear me… but say something. Anything. Please…" He heard Bishop's voice over the radio, she sounded like she was in distress, her speech was terse and occasionally wavered. There was a pause and Spencer startled at sudden movement to his left, putting half of his clip into the remaining Militia pilot from earlier.

The man stumbled forward as multiple rounds punched through his armor, His body teetered with broken momentum, staggering before falling forward, dropping a data-knife in the process. He watched as crimson pooled into the dirt to make small puddles of blood where the body fell.

"Spencer this is Bishop. Please respond. This isn't fucking funny…" She said, her somber, measured speech turning into a low growl. "You can't fucking die on me... Not like this."

The corporal moved to answer the woman when he noticed a blinking icon from his radio, the blips were identified as "Sgt. Wardd", the young pilot sighed, then answered his squad leader.

"You rang?" He answered.

"Lost your Titan's signal. What happened?"

"Destroyed and now I'm pinned." Spencer sighed.

There was a pause, then Wardd spoke. "Are you safe? Where is Bishop."

"She's defending her objective. As for me… I've been in worse." He tried to chuckle, but it instead came out as a dry, forced laugh.

"We need you here ASAP. Bring Bishop with you."

"Easier said than done, Wardd."

"You're resourceful, Spencer. Get it done." The radio channel closed and Spencer was alone.

With a long, drawn out groan, he rocked his head back and exhaled a breath. He paused, then switched back to Bishop's channel. "Bishop, can you hear me?"

There was an audible exhale of relief as Bishop spoke. "Spencer! I thought I lost you."

"It was a really close call… but I'm alive." He chuckled.

"Why the hell didn't you answer me earlier?!" She barked.

"I was preoccupied." He said as he fired off the last five shots of his R-97, bolt locking back as the barrel and internals smoked. Throwing the useless weapon away he went back to his sidearm.

His wingman grumbled before grinding out, "Where the hell are you anyways?"

"Think you can cover me?" He asked as he looked back towards where the IMC forces were hunkered down.

"The hell are you doing?" She asked, then grumbled, "Damnit…" She called out for covering fire and spoke to the corporal. "Alright we've got you. Hurry the hell up." She snapped, concern replaced with annoyance.

Spencer activated his Stim system and ran full force. Time seemed to dilate as he cleared ten, then twenty meters. As the IMC pilots defending the area came into sight he gave a final surge of effort. With a stumble over some chunks of rubble he ground to a halt within the building. He walked behind cover where he plopped down tiredly and took several deep, ragged breaths.

"You okay?" She asked, causing Spencer to look up.

"Y-yeah…"He said as he nursed the tingling sensation from his legs as excess adrenaline bled from his system.

Bishop smiled, Spencer couldn't see it from behind her helmet, but heard it in her voice. "You...you had me worried there..." She muttered, before punching Spencer in the shoulder, hard. "That's for being a reckless asshole." She frowned.

Groaning in pain, he sucked in a breath and grumbled, "Yeah. Okay. I deserved that one." With a small grunt he stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "New orders, we're moving out."

"Like hell you are, pilot." A voice called out, striding up to stare down the corporal. The first thing the pilot noticed was the striking resemblance to Bishop, even down to the way she frowned.

The taller pilot looked down to her collar where the polished platinum insignia of Fleet Admiral was displayed. "Well, ma'am… I have orders to take my wingman and assist back at the manufacturing plant." Spencer spoke in a near condescending tone.

"Watch your tone, pilot. You will speak to a superior officer with the respect their rank deserves." She commanded, authority thick in her voice.

"Yeah, but you aren't _my_ superior officer. You're also stopping me from doing my job. If you have a problem take it up with Captain North." Spencer shrugged her off as he took one of the spare rifles from one of the fallen soldiers of Lima squad.

The woman bristled, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then moved to speak again. "Do you intend to just leave us here?" She asked out in a measured sentence.

"I'm not necessarily leaving you. Just following orders." He said emphatically. "I hate being left behind too. But it happens." He apologized before adding. "With your rank though, you should be able to call in any kind of support you need. Besides these vanguard guys are legends, you'll be fine." He joked.

"I don't know, the Militia can be pretty resourceful." Bishop chuckled.

"My point exactly!" The admiral cried out. "You can't leave!" She frowned, "I'm giving you a direct order to stay and defend this position!" She barked angrily.

"Tough luck." He smiled. "Bishop! Let's move." He called out. Both of the pilots walking out of the rear of the building.

"Wait!" The admiral called out after the two, causing Bishop to roll her eyes and Spencer to pause in the doorway, looking at her over his shoulder. "You keep my daughter safe."

This earned a dismissive chuckle from Spencer who continued on.

"You tryin to impress me?" Bishop laughed after they had cleared the immediate danger area. "Didn't think you had the balls."

"She just came off as a bitch with too much power to be honest." He shrugged. "She had no right to speak to me like that." He commented.

"I'm just glad I'm not the only one who refuses to put up with her bullshit." She smiled. "Seriously, thanks. It means a lot, Spencer." Bishop added quietly.

"Any time." The corporal smiled.

The two then trotted through evacuated city streets. Some buildings collapsed by preemptive shelling strikes before the Militia began their assault in full force. As the two jogged, on he radioed Wardd.

"Wardd, this is Spencer. I have Bishop, were on foot. ETA… Uhhhh… 20 minutes." He reported as they cut through an alleyway between two buildings as a shortcut.

"Alright. We're seeing a heavy Militia presence from the… southeast. I would avoid that area, if I were you." There was a missile warning indicator blaring in the background as Wardd spoke, there was a sound of impact followed by his Titan's AI warning him about his shields before he spoke again. "I'm assuming you two are on foot?" He inquired distracted.

"Yeah." The Pilot kept his response short.

"Alright. Be careful." Then the radio was silent.

"Bishop, in here." Spencer nodded towards a small bookstore. There was even a nook with a little cafe.

They pushed the door open with an electric chime echoing through the empty space. The pilots checked the building for hostiles, sweeping through rows of shelves and rear storage rooms before they deemed the place safe.

Spencer twisted the seal ringing the top of his neck, an audible pop and hiss as the helmet broke its airtight seal. Pulling the helmet off and holding one handed, propped under his right armpit he looked to Bishop who removed her own helmet, giving her wingman a smirk.

"What's up?" She asked as she scratched where her scars broke her hairline.

"I wanted to have some lunc... " he started before trailing off. He took a deep breath, released with an uneven exhale and looked at her. "...I can't lie to you..." He took a pause, just long enough for Bishop to speak up.

"...What about?" She asked confusion cast on her face as a slight accusatory tone took over the tone of her voice.

"I wanted to have _that _talk... Feel like this is as good of a chance as we are going to get…" He chuckled lamely.

Bishop raised an eyebrow as a slight tinge of red graced her face. "O-oh." She frowned at her own display of fluster and spoke out angrily, ashamed of her own moment of emotional vulnerability. "Well...? Go on. This should be good." She chided him, feeling bad when his face fell slightly.

"...Bishop… I… I care about you." He started meekly, uncharacteristic of him. He frowned, looked her in the eye and continued. "When we first met, I had only treated you kindly because I realized you were a person, just like me. The subsequent times... I didn't realize it at first, I admit, but I think I started to develop a crush on you." He paused and looked to Bishop, when she didn't say anything he continued. "The more we met, the more I liked you. Your personality, the way you hide your smiles. I like that you stand up for yourself, you make your own opinions known and don't care what others think. I like that you're strong, even when you think you're not." Spencer stopped again, he was rambling, making a fool of himself. "I… I know I'm making a mess of this... " He muttered nervously. "When I saved you a few months ago… I did it because I didn't want you to die and because I didn't want to see you hurt. When you we're in that hospital bed I had sat outside your room the entire time. I was worried. Worried you wouldn't wake back up. Worried we wouldn't get to talk again."

Spencer looked into his knees for a moment as he sat down across from Bishop. He didn't look up until Bishop stepped closer. "Bishop, however you take it, I love you. I don't think there is any other way I can explain it." He confessed with admittedly more confidence than he began with. He looked to Bishop forcing a brave face. "It was hard for me to admit it to myself and even harder to admit to you... But like you said, you deserve to know... So there it is."

When she didn't immediately respond he started to panic. Looking away from the woman and hanging his head for a moment before looking back up. "Bishop, say something…" He addressed her. More silence on Bishop's part, "Bishop, _please_." He pleaded.

This garnered a response from the silent woman. She stood the man up, slapping him across the face. She was angry and her eyes were red as moisture pooled at their corners. "What the hell Spencer!" She fumed, her posture relaxed, helmet slipping from her grasp to clatter off the floor with a metallic clack that echoed through the building. Her shoulders heaved once, then twice as she looked to her feet. She wiped at eyes even as she continued to cry silently. "Why would you tell me something like that?!" Bishop looked up, she was still angry but her visual expression was one of anguish. "What if you die?" She choked back a cry with a growl. "...W-what would I do then?" She sulked.

Spencer took the risk of embracing her, folding his arms around her, trying to be as comforting as possible. "I'm not going to die. I couldn't just leave you like that." He comforted her, holding her as close as both of their equipment would allow.

With a shake of her head Bishop pushed Spencer away. "I...N-no… I need time. T-this isn't fair!..." She moped. She looked up with pleading eyes. "Spencer… please. L-let me think about this. I-I just… I can't..." She apologetically frowned as she picked her discarded helmet up.

The man blanched, her reaction, while better than expected for someone of her temperament, was far from what he wanted. He gave a silent sigh, forced a tight-lipped smile and nearly croaked out a strained "Sure."

As the rawness of her response still mulled about his system, the IMC contractor replaced his own helmet. As soon as his helmet was resealed he found his mood transition from numb sadness due to, what he considered, rejection, to a simmering anger.

He looked partially over his shoulder as he walked towards an exit to the building. "Let's…" Spencer sighed, "Let's go." He heard Bishop give a murmured response as he shouldered the back door open. The back of the building fed into a cargo dock, which in turn narrowed into a network of alleyways behind several other buildings.

A quick check of his TACMAP had shown the manufacturing facility further north of their current location. As they trudged along blocks turned into kilometers and after fifteen minutes of awkward silence the pair had reached the outskirts of the facility. The monolithic white concrete and glass structures towering several stories into the sky broke the vast expanse of rolling grassland. The entire facility was guarded by twenty foot walls, each two feet thick. The location was built like a Military compound. Something that worked well for the defending IMC but meant hell for the attacking Militia forces.

Spencer flinched at the sound of a large explosion not too far from their position, a geyser of dirt and smoke blooming from a nearby hill. "Wardd, this is Spencer, we are at the edge of the facility." There was a moment of silence before Wardd responded.

"Roger, I'm sending Fanucchi and Turner to pick you up." Wardd spoke. "The Militia are hitting us with everything they have. Hunker down and stay safe, they should be there soon."

Following the advice of his commanding officer he found a foxhole to hide in, head on a swivel, scanning for threats and their backup.

He glanced to Bishop and felt his mood drop. He shook his head to clear the emotion and turned away when Bishop spoke. "What is it?"

"Nothing." He responded dryly.

Bishop sighed, she got the message and resumed looking for threats.

The two sat on opposite ends of the foxhole, silently keeping watch. This behavior continued for a few more moments until a set of heavy vibrations called for their attention. Spencer saw the pair of Titans, an Ogre and an Atlas, both adorned in the IMC white paint. A quick check of his HUD identified both as Pvt. Fanucchi and Pvt. Turner.

Giving a soft grunt as he stood up from his angled prone, he scrambled over the lip of the foxhole. The pilot gave a sprint towards the Atlas, firing his jumpkit as he neared the machine, vaulting onto the top of the machine and securing himself on the rear of the Atlas. He was vaguely aware of Bishop climbing onto the Ogre. "Turner, let's go."

"Woah, what's the rush?" Fanucchi asked.

"We have a job to do." The corporal answered shortly.

"Yeah… we know. You're unusually snappy today." Fanucchi grumbled.

"I'm just ready for today to be over." He hissed in irritation. As much as he hated to admit it, his earlier interaction with Bishop had put him in a foul mood.

"Fine. We get it. You don't want to talk." Turner amicably said, trying to defuse the situation. "Let's just get this over with." With that closing comment Turner moved his Titan back towards the facility, slowly gaining distance on the slower Ogre.

The four stomped their way past crashed crow dropships, mangled husks of Titans and fields full of corpses, both robotic and humanoid. Once lush, well manicured landscapes bombed out, grass blackened, smooth rolling hills broken by deep craters and smaller pockmarks of explosive munitions.

"I almost feel bad for them…" Spencer muttered. "Almost."

"Fuckers have been hitting us for secured a small section within the facility. They're using warpfall and drop pods primarily." Turner reported as they cleared an abandoned convoy of armored vehicles, some with the engines still running.

"Any trouble with those warpfalls?" Spencer asked, more for the sake of conversation than actual intrigue.

"No, actually." Turner chuckled impressed. "We've actually had very few casualties. These Titan and Spectre prototypes… they're good. Really good." Turner spoke, his tone moving from impressed to fearful.

Spencer's interest was peaked. If these machines were as good as his squadmate said they were he wanted to see them in action.

His wish was soon granted as they entered deeper into the compound, a squad of red and black spectres garbed in white ballistic harnesses arced overhead.

"Were those jumpkits?!" Spencer asked incredulously, craning his head to follow their movement.

"Yeah, the things can already jump super high and now they have jumpkits." Turner laughed, "They're trying to replace us."

"This is exactly what we were afraid of…" Bishop muttered in the background.

"That's what you get when you kick the hornet's nest." Fanucchi stated matter-of-factly.

"Alright heads up." Turner piped up as gunfire became louder and louder with every stride of his Titan's colossal legs. Within moments they were in an intersection of interfacility roadways, Militia in force at one of the three ends of the junction.

There were several dead Titans strewn around the battlefield, as well as a score of Spectres and grunts. Extensive damage to the area had rendered the normally clean and modern industrialized look into one of a battered warzone. Grass was missing in large chunks, some buildings had outer layers of concrete blown off, leaving huge piles of stone and rebar to be scattered across the road and walkways. Shards of glass from shattered windows gave the ground a faceted glimmer in large clusters near the edge of buildings and rubble piles.

Spencer looked over the top of Turner's Atlas to recoil away last second as an Archer rocket screamed through where his upper body had just been. "Christ!" He belted out, heart thumping out of his chest.

Turner laughed, "Yeah, sorry. They're _kinda_ shooting at us."

"Kinda?!" Spencer growled. "Well, shoot back, please."

Fanucchi and Turner didn't give a response, instead opening fire on the Militia forces hunkered behind several mountains of rubble, empty drop pods and dead Titans. The grunts and Spectres below, now backed up by more Titans began to push forward.

The Militia stood their ground killing several grunts who were advancing and managing to down an already damaged Ares.

Turner and Fanucchi eventually turned away from the battle and started to head west of their current position. "As much as I'd love to help these guys, Wardd wants us to regroup. Remember?" Turner explained their actions, killing the corporal's protests in his throat.

There was a few minutes of weaving in and out of battlefields before they reached the inside of a storage warehouse. It towered several stories tall, a giant "WAREHOUSE 3C" plastered on the front facade of the building. They passed a checkpoint guarded by four Titans, and at least two racks worth of the new Spectre models as well as a squad of grunts and two pilots. Inside the warehouse were lines of Titans, newer models like the Ares, as well as scores of Atlases, Ogres and Stryders.

As Spencer craned his head up he saw several hundred racks of Spectre drones on the second floor. On the third he caught glimpses of vehicles like Goblins and IMC armored trucks and APCs. He whistled at the sight. Further back on the first floor, within its own designated section were countless Titan Munitions. Missiles, rockets, ammunition belts, pods and canisters for said ordinance as well as all of the weapons that fired those munitions.

"Damn… How many of these places do we have here?" Spencer asked in astonishment.

"I think it goes up to 20F." Turner said as he Piloted his Titan to an area set aside for the IMC forces.

As they neared a large, portable office building inside the warehouse, the Titans stopped. Spencer and his wingman took this as their cue to disembark as the cockpits opened for Fanucchi and Turner to leave the safety of their Titans.

As the two other pilots situated themselves Spencer nodded in thanks as he regarded the two. "Come on, Wardd is this way." Fanucchi said, jerking his head towards the portable office.

Leading the way he opened the door and was greeted with every head turning to the room's new occupants, regarding them silently before returning to their own tasks. Towards the back, in a dark room was the rest of Omega squad and two other groups of soldiers. They huddled around a blue holographic projection of the facility, a few of the heads looked up from the projection to glance at the four pilots. Wardd, being one of the people who looked up waved over the four, making motions for the rest of his squad to follow.

A quick headcount by Wardd was the only pause the group got before he started a rapid breakdown of the current situation. "So we've been able to keep the Militia mostly at bay. Their little foothold in the facility is problematic. Command has suspected that the Militia are going to use their position to triangulate orbital strikes." He paused, letting the suspicion sink in.

"When was the last time someone used those kind of tactics?" Decker asked, shifting his harness.

"Titan wars. Millions dead in a single salvo." Wardd recalled, while he wasn't on the ground operations it was used on, he watched from orbit as the air caught fire and dust clouded a patch of the planet, clearly visible as a dark spot from orbit. "They used a warship back then, overkill. But… It got the job done."

"What makes you think they would use something like that?!" Bishop lashed out, protecting the integrity of the Militia.

"Lets face it. The Militia is desperate. They've seen what this facility is capable of. If they don't win here… It's over." Wardd barked angrily.

"This sounds bad… But millions of deaths? Come on now Wardd." Miller whined skeptically.

"The impacts themselves were equivalent to tactical nukes. Maybe three fourths of a megaton at most. It's the shockwave, the heat, dust earthquakes and boiling atmosphere that kills millions." Wardd explained. "A single strike wouldn't be that bad, especially from a smaller ship. It would be like a big bomb." He tried to reassure his squad. "An entire salvo though?" Wardd grimly stated, "We would all be dead… so we aren't going to let that happen."

"As much of a threat this is, where is the proof that this is what they're trying to do?" Torrento asked.

"We found what we believe to be a triangulation beacon near one of the robotic production facilities. They're probably adjusting their triangulation coordinates by sight, then setting their targets that way." He explained.

After looking around the room and seeing the grim faces of his squad and a conflicted face from Bishop he continued on. "Our orders are to secure several areas we believe to be targeted by those beacons. Once we do that we will simultaneously scramble the coordinates. We hope that will stop the Militia from initiating an orbital strike."

"What makes you say that?" Turner questioned.

"We are in Adeana's most populated city with a very dense population pattern. If they miss, they're killing Millions of innocent people. No way around it. The Militia is desperate, but I don't think they would risk that many innocent deaths." Wardd furthered his explanation. He paused as he regarded his squad. "Any questions?"

When no one spoke up, Wardd grunted then began issuing orders. "You have all been given your orders." He tapped away on a wrist mounted tactical computer, uploading a set of commands to his squad of pilots.

The group regarded their respective orders, splitting up to commence their own side missions. Wardd called out, "Careful out there!" As his soldiers, his family, trotted off.

Spencer moved a quickened pace, the stamping of heavy boots and combat rigging echoing through the nearly cavernous space.

As the corporal left the warehouse he found a large APC. There was an extended cage atop the vehicle, allowing additional open air seating, with armored skirts lining the flanks of the vehicle. With a grunt as he climbed up the vehicle he turned to see Bishop hoist herself up, sitting across from him on the far end of the carrier.

A short, but stressful ride later and the pair were disembarking. Smoke and dust as well as some faint midday fog blanketed the area, giving the environment a cold feeling as the concrete and glass facility was tinted in a faint blue.

Sparing a glance over to a collapsed half of a building he nodded to a group of IMC grunts taking cover from several Militia infantry squads. Grinning, Spencer took off in a sprint, moving to flank the infantry.

He bounded past several bollards and up a flight of stairs. As he reached the top he bounded over the safety handrail with assistance from his jumpkit. As he landed, he snapped his weapon up as he was now behind several beat up jersey barriers that the Militia were using as cover.

He released 24 rounds of metal jacketed death, spraying into a cluster of grunts. The others startled as the rounds connected with his targets.

Ripping a frag grenade from his belt and throwing the sphere as he ejected the spent magazine from his weapon. As he slapped home the fresh magazine the frag grenade detonated, catching two unlucky soldiers in its cloud of thunder and fire. He then picked off the stragglers draining his magazine in short, precise bursts, downing six more grunts as they scrambled for new cover. As his magazine emptied with a click he hunkered down behind cover, exchanging his empty rectangular case for a fresh one. As he racked the receiver back he poked his head up only to flinch back as chunks of concrete ejected from the jersey barrier that he hid behind.

There were more gunshots, followed by yelps of pain and screams of agony and red dots winking off of his minimap. He turned to see the IMC grunts pushing forward, catching the Militia who were now within a crossfire between IMC pilots and grunts.

"Alright pilot we're pushing up. We have to take the robotic research facility." A gruff voice of a IMC grunt rumbled over his radio. "Do we have your support for that?"

"Yeah." Spencer was short, turning to make sure Bishop was following before moving up with the Grunts. He took the initiative on the majority of the engagements, drawing fire and placing himself in harm's way a number of times. While this was a dangerous tactic, it had spared the grunts of any casualties.

When they had pushed far enough to actually see the embattled facility, damaged facade and destroyed, previously manicured landscaping, they paused. Spencer thunked down behind an overturned APC, back pressed against the thick, armored undercarriage. Rifling through his ammunition pouches his hand drifted to his Sidewinder when he heard the stomping of several Titans.

Glancing to confirm the noise he cursed when he saw several Militia Atlases parading around the perimeter of the research building. He looked back when he heard a jumpkit fire followed by a heavy thud and rustling jingle of ballistic gear. Identifying it as Bishop he lowered his weapon but didn't relax.

"That's a lot of opposition." Spencer commented as he finished checking his weapons.

"You going to rush in like last time?" Bishop asked masking a bit of her anger with a sort of indifferent tone to her question.

"It's worked so far." He was short, requesting a Titan through his wrist mounted tactical computer.

"Attention, retasking Ares unit. Standby." A red and steel colored Spectre droned as it's portrait superimposed itself in his upper left hand corner.

Bishop grunted, annoyed. "Don't die in there."

"You aren't coming?" He asked a little surprised.

"I'll secure the perimeter." She irritatedly sighed.

Spencer grunted then looked away from Bishop with disinterest. "I called in a Titan, I'm going to need your men to create a diversion while I get in it." Spencer directed his transmission to the squad leader of the IMC grunts they were with.

"We've got your back, pilot." The man reassured the corporal.

"Stay out of danger though." Spencer added. He didn't want any casualties to be because of his orders.

"Don't worry bout' a thing pilot. We've got this." The grunt laughed.

"Alright, cover me." He said to both Bishop and the grunts they were with. He then turned to Bishop, conflicted. "...Stay safe." He spoke lowly, rushing to meet his Ares Titan as it rounded the corner, a mobile particle barrier projected in front of the machine as it moved.

With a sprint he took off, clearing several tens of meters as the group of grunts fired Archer rockets and Bishop tossed a pair of Arc Grenades. With a thrust from his jumpkit he watched as the upper plate of the Ares slid up and away to allow Spencer to embark the machine.

As he climbed into the seat he watched in wonder as the machine rapidly synchronized with his suit's systems, transferring relevant data to his HUD. The pilot then took a moment to look over the Ares armaments.

The titan featured a 35mm autocannon, the Titan's systems reported the weapon as fully automatic, Spencer grinned. The Ares also had 8 pods of swarm missiles, massive warheads that could break apart mid flight to release a deadly swarm of high explosive, independently targeting micro rockets. Each pod held six of those missiles. Underneath the Auto-Titan's optics was a small point defense system that featured a .45 caliber machine gun, providing independently targeting defense from infantry. It also had a mobile particle barrier that could be projected in front of the Titan. It wasn't a gun… but it would suffice.

"Synchronization complete. Transferring controls." The Titan spoke in a almost whispered dark rumble. The pilot admitted that the machine sounded like a dark, shadowy demonic voice that someone would hear in the back of their mind.

"Alert: We are outnumbered three to one… it is now an even fight."

Spencer turned to the first Titan, an Atlas with a Triple Threat grenade launcher. As his own Ares opened fire, the Militia Titan launched a barrage of grenades. Spencer watched in amazement as the point defense machine gun intercepted the three grenades mid flight, their munitions exploding harmlessly in the air.

He watched as his autocannon made short work of his enemy. High caliber rounds peeling away the shields before making short work of the Atlas's armor. As the Atlas used it's vortex field he held his fire, choosing that moment to reload his weapon. Unclasping a massive ammunition case easily the size of a small car and grabbing a spare from the Ares's back and feeding it back into the weapon.

As his weapon readied itself the other two Titans arrived, one was attempting to take out the IMC ground forces even as more Militia dropped in from a series of drop pods. The other assisted the first, opening fire on Spencer with a plasma railgun. Cursing as his shields dropped after a trio of shots he enabled the smart tracking system of his missile pods and watched as the Titan automatically fired a salvo of six missiles towards the only Titan not actively engaging them.

A few seconds before impact, the casings of the Missiles peeled away to release a swarm of micro rockets, carpeting the Titan in fire as the larger missiles detonated against the olive drab shell of the Titan with armor piercing effectiveness. As the smoke and fire cleared from the Titan Spencer saw the shabby shape he had reduced the machine to.

It was a wonder how the Titan continued to function, entire chunks of the machine were missing. The majority of the armor had peeled off and fires and arcs of electricity danced freely across the surface of the mech. Spencer scoffed, turned his weapon and pumped round after round into the hostile Titan. The Militia Titan returned fire, its munitions popping ineffectively against his energy shield.

Under the relentless hail of fire the enemy pilot was forced to eject. The pilot's escape was short lived however as the point defense machine gun snapped off a short burst of rounds, killing the pilot mid air.

"Hostile Pilot has been eliminated." The corporal's Auto-Titan's voice relayed to him, a sadistic tinge to its voice. "Attention: We are outnumbered two to one." Ares reported.

Spencer grinned, this Titan was very efficient at killing other Titans. He couldn't wait until the IMC started using these in a more permanent role.

The resulting battles between the two remaining Titans went fairly quick. Spencer, conscious of their objective elected to swarm the two Titans with missile pods.

As the last Titan fell he turned his attention to Bishop and the remaining Grunts. "Bishop, take these grunts and secure the interior of the building. I'm going to clear the perimeter, make sure there aren't any stragglers." Spencer ordered as he began to patrol the building.

Grumbling, she complied. Pushing forward into the research building's ground floor. Taking down a trio of grunts with her EVA-8 before pulling a Smart Pistol from her hip and getting two more further down range. Replacing her Smart Pistol as she moved further in she glanced back to see the group of grunts breach a room, sweeping into the room after tossing a flashbang grenade.

Bishop shrugged with indifference and began to push deeper into the facility, dispatching militia as she went on. As she cleared the foyer she pushed into the back hallways which led to offices and stairwells. She glanced out, down the longest hallway to her left and watched the stairwell for any movement. After a tense moment she moved towards one of the slightly ajar doors, she would hold off on the second floor until she was able to regroup with the squad of grunts.

Easing the door open with the barrel of her EVA-8 she swept the room. The room was empty, if only recently however. Many maps and laptops were strewn about hastily. She glanced at one of the maps, outlining several strike zones and their projected radii.

She grimaced, a total of twenty circles overlaid the map, completely covering the facility with a bit of overlap. There was no way anyone would survive if that attack went through. The Militia were effectively sacrificing their forces to obtain their objective. She felt disgusted and saddened. The Militia she knew would never take those risks. Then again, this wasn't the Militia she knew. These guys were from the frontier's front lines. They were ruthless and resourceful, despite their losses, they've managed to secure some form of victory over the IMC. If they were going to use such tactics, she could see why the IMC were pushed back this far.

"Pilot, we've secured the bottom floor, we're regrouping on you then moving to the second floor." A voice crackled over her radio, snapping Bishop from her reverie.

Bishop startled, but quickly composed herself. "Got it." She said shortly, already hearing the heavy footfalls of the squad of grunts.

She didn't have to wait long for the soldiers to arrive, four of them camping out in the hallway, waiting for any Militia who might ambush them.

"My men are ready pilot, just give us the word." The grunt, a Captain if the double bars were any indication, spoke.

"Alright, let's move then." She huffed, taking point down the hall.

As the reached the stairwell no opposition met them. The same could be said for upstairs, save a small ambush in one of the larger science labs, Militia forces taking cover behind several research projects and partially constructed robots. After a final sweep and clear of the second floor the IMC forces found what they were looking for, a moderately sized computer with a satellite beacon. A cursory glance of the display showed the very facility they were in with a set of coordinates attached. This must have been what they were supposed to be looking for.

"Guys I think I've found one of the things we're looking for." She radioed to her squad. There was a moment of pause before Decker replied to her.

"Good. Standby." He sounded distracted. "That means we're ready to go. We need to do this at the same time. Standby for signal to scramble."

Bishop moved to reply when a muffled clap following what could only be described as an earthquake interrupted her. After a modest aftershock she staggered to her feet. "Woah…" She muttered with a look of concerned confusion. "S...Spencer what the fuck just happened?" She almost didn't want to ask him, with the way he's been.

Spencer looked to a massive plume of smoke and dust off in the distance. The dark void flickered with oranges and yellows of fire as a roiling wall of dust and soot slowly expanded. The corporal stuttered in shock. "...H...h-holy shit…" He murmured in shock.

"What happened?" Bishop repeated.

Before the pilot could respond a low drawn out moan of metal followed by a crumbling crash as the hollowed husk of the building, gutted from an orbital strike collapsed under its own weight. The force of the collapse forcing out a massive shockwave of debris. A wall of glass shards, white concrete dust and heat spilling from the epicenter of the strike zone and spreading at an astonishing rate, swallowing everything in its path.

"...shit!" Spencer started over the radio as he started to back up his Titan. The low, rumbling roar of displaced atmosphere could not only be heard but felt as the building collapsed in the distance.

Bishop, hearing the low, muffled rumbling grew concerned as to what was actually happening. "Spencer? What's going on?"

"Shit…! SHIT! SHIT! SHI-" The pilot yelled over the channel just as his signal went dead.

Bishop stood concerned, then looked to her map, his blue dot was nowhere to be found. Pulling up her squad's roster on her wrist mounted computer gave a simple "SIGNAL LOST" next to his name. She paled, frozen. Loss gripped her as her chest tightened up into what felt like a massive knot.

Before she could act on her feelings however the grunts in the room were in a flurry of activity and radio chatter. "-BITAL STRIKE CONFIRMED. I REPEAT ORBITAL STRIKE CONFIRMED!" One of the men panicked over the radio. The others were still confused or at a loss of what to do.

As the former Militia pilot began to issue directions to the foot soldiers she received a static filled transmission that only got worse by the second. It was Wardd, "SCRAMBLE THOSE COORDINATES! SCRAMBLE THEM, NOW!" He bellowed over the radio with equal parts fear and anger in a near incomprehensible tone. He managed to do this before the radio cut out completely.

The sheer amount of dust and debris effectively silencing any electronic signal. The only electronic that still functioned, but was slowly degrading was the little computer. Using her data knife to begin the scrambling protocols, she could only hope she would be able to prevent total annihilation.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for no chapter last month, a bunch of games came out, then my college classes did their last big push of assignments before finals. Hopefully this chapter is up to snuff. Let me know what you think, like 99% of this was written on my phone between classes.**

December 7, 1508 Hours

"ATTENTION: HULL INTEGRITY CRITICAL. ALL PERSONNEL PROCEED TO THE NEAREST LIFE BOAT. PROTOCOLS: ECHO. SIERRA. ALPHA. CHARLIE. ZULU. INDIGO." The ship's A.I. blared throughout the PA system on repeat. The loud message popping with static and screaming over wailing claxons.

Having the ship's interior bathed in red emergency lights didn't help the situation either. The bridge crew still furiously worked throughout the ordeal. Their captain calmly working them through the situation.

"Andrews, get me a re-entry solution that will ease impact." The captain said as he turned to his weapons and communication officers. "Carvelle, target any small craft to buy our evacuees some time. Thompson, try to hail the rest of the fleet, let them know our ship is lost."

"Aye, Captain." His crew called in response.

Soon he had documents for a projected re-entry course. Maximum burn, landing in a large stretch of open land, between Storett's main manufacturing plant and the city proper. Acceptable.

"Good, initiate the projected course. Full bu-" He began as one of his subordinates interrupted him.

"INCOMING!" A feminine voice screamed out, pulling all eyes on the bridge to a MCOR frigate firing its main weapon, an Ion Railgun. The white-hot rod of energy the size of a subway car silently, but quickly, screaming towards the wounded IMC ship.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" The captain belted out, gripping the nearest handrail. Moments later a earth-shattering vibration rumbled through the ship. Quickly, the captain turned to his engineering officer. Without needing to ask, his officer spoke up.

"I'm reading extensive damage to all decks across the hull." The woman calmly stated, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"Sir, navigation is set, but we're bleeding energy."

"Weapons are offline sir!" His weapons officer, Carvelle called out, panic creeping into her voice.

"Communications are offline."

"Captain, if we're leaving, we need to do it now. Life support is rapidly failing. We have about two minutes."

With a deep sigh the captain took a look around the brigde. Shattered viewports, sparking electrical panels, flickering lights and the expectant stares of his crew. "Andrews… make sure that solution is locked in. Sera, dump yourself onto a drive core. We're leaving." He said, even as the ship wide evacuation order stopped.

Soon his crew was secured into a lifepod, fired at Storett's production facility.

Little did the captain know that the Militia's Ion Railgun not only crippled his ship, the round punched through his weakened hull to carry over to the surface of the planet, giving the IMC a taste of what was to come.

December 7, 1511 Hours

Bishop waited a few seconds. When those seconds turned to minutes with no more immediate world ending earthquakes she sighed out in relief. She only hoped her squad had done their job as well. With a sigh of relief she moved to use her radio when the grunt captain stopped her.

"It's no use, too much atmospheric interference." He said with frustration in his voice.

Bishop moved to speak when another voice interrupted. She bristled but didn't speak out. Irritatedly she turned to a grunt, out of breath, standing at the doorway.

The grunt took several deep breaths and spoke. "Sir, all the entry ways are reading 70 centigrade." The grunt reported. "It's probably much hotter outside. I couldn't even get 50 feet to the door before I was getting temperature warnings."

The captain cursed. Then turning to Bishop asked, "Where's your wingman?"

"Outside." Bishop was short. She didn't want to think about his current situation.

The captain sighed, then looked to Bishop. "I hate to tell you… But he's probably dead. Titans are heat resistant but that thing is probably heating up like an oven."

Bishop growled, suddenly angry. "You think I don't know that?!" She cried out suddenly choking back the urge to cry. "He's resourceful… so until I see a body…" She trailed off, electing not to finish her own train of thought.

The captain sighed, shook his head and moved over to where the rest of his squad was within the room.

Bishop let out a ragged sigh and paced about the room. She hated being idle, partially because it was boring, but mostly because it made her think, which eventually pulled her thoughts to him. Normally she wouldn't worry about things like this. She never really concerned herself about the wellbeing of her squadmates. Pilots were hardy, skilled people. It took a lot to bring one down. However, at the end of the day they were still human.

Throwing her head back with a sigh she paced her way over the group of grunts. "Is there a way out of here that won't end up getting me killed?"

"You want to look for your wingman that bad?" The captain asked, looking over his shoulder, turning his attention from a map he and the rest of his team were huddled over.

"No... I have a fucking mission to complete..!" Bishop couldn't keep the hate and anger from her voice. "Now, you limp dicked pussies can stay here and wait if you like. Just tell me how to get the fuck out of here!" She snapped.

The squad watched in stunned silence before the same soldier who went to check the entryways spoke up. "There should be some tunnels that connect the building to the rest of the facility, including the underground sections."

"Where?"

"They should be back on the first floor. Look for an elevator or stairs going down." The grunt offered.

Bishop nodded silently, turning to leave. She quickly strode down the hallway with a series of rhythmic thuds of boots on flooring. Her pace was just short of a jog, quickly stepping down the stairs and into the first floor. She then set to looking around her surroundings, checking every corner and battle-scarred room.

True to the soldier's word there was a long, dark stairwell that led into the recesses of the facility. Instead of taking the stairs down she hopped over the handrail. Just before she hit the ground she pulsed her jump kit, slowing her momentum to a mild jostle. Landing with a short grunted exhale of breath she righted herself from her current half crouch.

Looking around she saw a massive underground space, easily the size of the building above ground, if not a little larger. Outside the doors in this area stretched out into massive tunnels. Miles and miles of maze like corridors and service tunnels stretched out before her. She sighed at the sheer size of the space before her.

It would take forever to search the area, let alone find a tunnel that led back to her squad. With a huff she begrudgingly trudged out into the hallway. Delaying things was only going to make the situation worse.

Spencer panicked as his viewport blacked out, looking around as the interior of the cockpit darkened considerably. The sheer amount of dust in the air had blocked out the sun, casting everything in unnatural darkness. What little light that did filter through the oppressive blanket of grey did little to combat the dark.

The corporal moved to turn on the external lamps on the Titan, only to find they did nothing but produce a muddied glare across the top of his viewport. The sheer amount of dust clinging to and suffocating his Titan.

"Alert: Atmospheric interference detected. Communications: Offline. Warning: Hostile atmospheric conditions detected. Warning: Extreme temperatures detected." His AI droned out in a heavily synthetic voice. "Attention: System overheat imminent." The Titan called out, drawing the pilot's attention to the various status readings scrolling across one of the side mounted monitors.

The ones that stood out were the temperature warnings. Outside reported back as a scorching 160 centigrade, inside the Titan things weren't faring any better. The temperature showed a report of 37 degrees Celsius, the temperature slowly but surely increasing. At this rate Spencer would cook in his cockpit.

Frowning and with a bit of panic, he pulled up a cached satellite map of the facility. Estimating his location he moved to the closest building, only stopping when the Titan physically collided with a concrete and metal skybridge between the buildings.

"Attention: Obstruction detected. Please avert course heading." The Titan reported back.

"Ares, how close is the building's wall?" He asked.

There was a pause before Ares responded, "Scan accuracy has been severely impacted due to atmospheric conditions. Estimated distance: forty feet." The Titan responded.

"Is that distance directly in front of us?" The pilot asked, glancing down at the temperature reading again.

"No, closest vertical surface is estimated to be to our right."

"Aim at it." Spencer commanded, shifting in his seat from the jostling and the uncomfortable full body sweat he was experiencing.

"Done."

"Open fire, destroy that wall." He barked out, as the Ares launched several missiles at the building.

"Wall destroyed."

"Thank you Ares." Spencer said as he keyed the cockpit to open, grunting from the blast of heat that hit him as the airtight seal broke on the Titan.

"Good luck out there, Pilot." The machine called after Spencer.

The corporal landed with a belted out grunt, the full brunt of the atmosphere hitting him. Suppressing a scream, he made way for the hole his Titan had made. Finding the wall as a vague mass, barely able to see more than five feet in front of him, he eventually found the wall, even as he felt the early onset of burns upon his skin.

Inside the building was blessedly cooler, but the temperature was starting to rise due to the hole in the wall. Spencer made a point to move deeper into the building. Even though the entire ordeal had only lasted a few seconds his entire body wafted smoke. Once he felt he was deep enough into the building he began hurriedly stripping off gear from his overheated form.

First came his helmet which skittered across the floor as the pilot tossed the heavy garb from his heated form with urgency. Next came his vest and tactical rigging, armor plates coming away at the same time. Those thudded to the ground heavily as the corporal yanked his combat fatigues over his head. He quickly flopped to the cold plastic tiles that made up the majority of the floor of the room he was in. With a rugged inhale he appreciated the feeling of the cold floor against his overheated form. It was some time before he moved, the sweat on his body either drying or evaporating before he even considered getting up.

With a sigh of relief he stood, slowly replacing his gear which was still warm to the touch. He shifted the weight, it felt uncomfortable now and would bug him. He frowned, but moved his attention to the environment and matters at hand. His radio was still a no go. His local map was current but only because that used short range scans rather than long range scans to paint a large area. As long as he stayed indoors where the dust didn't saturate the atmosphere, it would continue to work. He grinned, it was something, and his IFF system would work as long as his local map system worked.

Getting to work to with searching his surroundings he constantly kept his eye on his radar and temperature readings, staying to the cooler sections of the buildings. Unexpectedly his immediate area was clear of hostiles. While a militia presence was evident, there were no active combatants, just abandoned furnishings of a makeshift base of operations.

He paused as he felt a series of tremors, from what felt like a massive earthquake in the distance. He watched precariously as a few ceiling panels smashed into the ground and several light fixtures shook violently, bathing the room in shifting shadows. Several smaller items were displaced from shelves or tables to rattle and crash upon the unstable floor.

After a few moments the environment settled, and Spencer stood from his half crouch. "...Part of the underground facility must have collapsed…" He murmured to himself.

Underground Bishop frowned and cursed, taking refuge under a massive support pillar. She watched as an unearthly amount of dust shook down from the ceiling. She even gulped as parts of the ceiling sported new hairline cracks and fractures. "What the fuck was that…" She muttered, now a little scared of the tunnels collapsing.

After a moment of making sure no more tremors were going to reach her, she pushed forward. Part of her feared that they had fired more shots at the facility. Her chest tensed when she thought of Spencer. If he somehow survived the first shot, there was no way he would survive another. She prayed he was safe. There was no way for her to know however so she just hoped and pushed forward.

Soon she was a considerable distance from where she started. He legs felt heavy and dead, her gear was beginning to bite into her with its weight. She sighed tiredly and stopped to sit, her first break in an hour of walking and light jogging. She figured to check her radio and was immediately hailed by Wardd. "Bishop!? There you are! Is Spencer with you? Are you safe? Where are you?" Wardd asked in a rapid fire series of questions.

"Wardd…" Bishop exhaled happily. "It's good to hear your voice." She said with palpable relief. "Spencer… I… I don't know where he is." She said somberly. She almost didn't want to continue her train of thought, because it acknowledged her fear of him being dead. "...He...He might be dead."

Wardd paused for a long moment. "Alright…" was all he muttered out, almost a low growl. "We're a quarter of a mile from your location… link up, we should be getting new orders in a moment."

"Y...yes sir." She stuttered.

Bishop eventually made it to an IMC fortification in one of the tunnels, a group of grunts and a pair of pilots manning the position. Upon checking her identification as an IMC pilot she was waved through. Up a short elevator ride and she was greeted by another checkpoint, at least twenty gun barrels pointed at her. She reflexively pulled her own weapon, however she relaxed when she caught sight of Wardd.

"Stand down!" He barked with more authority than she thought the man possessed. "She's mine!" He called out, as the weapons lowered, as she worked her way over to her squad leader she spotted the rest of her squad.

She noticed several Spectres rush past her squad, all of them looked spindly and wore jump kits. These machines also sported a red paint scheme and a different head mount. "What are those?" Bishop asked as she reached her squad.

"Pilot-class Spectres." Decker said.

"They're prototype combat simulacrums from Vinison Dynamics." Miller corrected. "They're highly advanced combat AI designed to supplement our Pilot forces." He continued on as he explained. "Think of them as a suped up Spectre with a way better combat processor."

"Thats… scary." Torrento joked, although there was sincerity in his voice.

The group shared a strained chuckle as they briskly marched down several glass and metal hallways, leading outside to a group of waiting goblins. Several IMC ground crews darted to a from various locations, many of them piling into waiting Goblins that screamed off of the tarmac with a splitting whine of their engines.

As Omega squad boarded an awaiting Goblin, Gomez spoke up. "Hey, where's Spencer?" He asked, turning to Bishop who was halfway onto the Goblin.

She paused, her shoulders dropping as she let out a sigh. "I...I don't know." She started, "He was outside when the first strike hit… I haven't heard from him since." She looked to the rest of the squad as she finished climbing aboard.

"We have bigger things to worry about." Wardd spoke, addressing his squad as the Goblin lurched from the ground.

"What do you mean?" Gomez bristled slightly, he knew Wardd wasn't one to dismiss the wellbeing of his crew so casually.

"Look." He pointed out the portside window to an IMC cruiser crashed into the ground, a sea of debris and fire surrounding the wrecked vessel, a massive hole torn through the side of the ship. He frowned and sighed heavily.

"...Holy shit…" Turner muttered as the group looked upon the wreckage. As they passed the wreckage, even as Militia forces began to pick through the wreckage, Turner looked to the cockpit then the Wardd. "We aren't landing?"

Wardd shrugged, just as confused. He began to voice his complaints when the pilot spoke up. "Negative, IMC HICOMM wants us to provide the city with any support we can. Assess the situation if we can't." He explained as they crested the smoking remains of the cruiser to look upon a literal wall of dust than spanned the entire horizon, reaching far into the sky to scrape the bottom of clouds.

"Oh my god…" Decker exhaled.

"What the hell… there used to be a city here right?!" Fanucchi asked, concerned and confused.

"All those people…" Miller gasped.

"How-how many lives were lost?" Bishop softly asked.

"A-almost a billion…" Decker started, furiously turning and snatching Bishop off of her feet, suspended by near inhuman strength by her assault harness. "HOW COULD YOU JUST KILL ALL THOSE PEOPLE?!" Decker screamed, enraged.

Bishop's own anger flared, managing to catch herself however, she spoke out in measured sentences. "I. Am not. Militia, Decker." Bishop glared at him.

"BULLSH-"

"Decker! That's enough! She wasn't the one who killed all those people." Wardd snapped, "Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to help anything."

Decker growled, as if seriously considering killing the Ex-Militia pilot. With a strained sigh he released Bishop.

"Standby, approaching city limits." The pilot shouted to the soldiers in the hold.

Soon the aircraft was passing over broken ground, massive uneven slabs of land and partially sunken and destroyed buildings littering the very outskirts.

"Pilot land here." Wardd said as he climbed into the cockpit. "I want to drop off a few of my men."

"Yes sir." The pilot nodded, angling the ship down.

Trotting back into the hold Wardd turned to Decker, Torrento and Fanucchi. "Decker, Torrento, Fanucchi. You three search this area for survivors… Be safe." He ordered just as the dropship touched down. "Keep in radio contact." He added as the three pilots disembarked.

"Alright, take us back up!" Wardd yelled as his subordinates cleared the thruster wash. The four remaining pilots stumbled from the sudden shift in weight.

Soon enough the dropship was hundreds of feet from the ground, heading towards the dark grey cloud of dust. Sooner than anticipated however the dropship averted its course.

"Woah…" The pilot muttered as they now flew perpendicular to the dust wall.

"What's wrong?" Wardd asked, once again climbing into the cockpit.

"Unless you wanna get cooked this is as close as we go." The co-pilot said, craning their neck to look at Wardd behind their shoulder.

"Why is that?" Wardd asked, although he already knew the likely answer.

"Air temperature is reading 250 centigrade. If we went in there, this thing would turn into a flying oven."

Wardd frowned, nodded, and turned to his crew. "This is as close as we get guys." He then turned to the pilots flying the aircraft. "Fly a patrol pattern, look for any survivors. If you don't find anything, take us back to the rest of my squad.

"Yes sir." The pilot nodded.

Miles away, Spencer jogged down a large underground tunnel wide enough to fit several cargo trucks side by side and tall enough to fit a Titan and then some. As he went on through the seemingly endless expanse of concrete tunnels his mind began to drift. While he didn't really think about anything, he found himself spacing out on more than one occasion.

Each time he let his mind wander he would simply place one foot in front of the other, voice a steady rhythmic inhale and exhale through his nose. The occasional shrug of the shoulder to adjust uncomfortable weight was the only thing that would break the near robotic monotony. He would have continued on like this for awhile if it wasn't for his local map picking up a group of friendly contacts.

Snapping out of his mindlessness he slowed his pace and payed more attention to his surroundings. Eventually he saw the cause of the clustered friendly IFF tags, a checkpoint. Several soldiers who hadn't noticed him yet were all carelessly relaxing, from the distance he was at he could see some of them laughing and telling jokes. He cautiously began to approach when one of the soldiers noticed him with a startle calling to the others.

Spencer froze as he had easily twelve gun barrels pointed at him. After a long, tense moment he spoke out. "How long you going to point your guns at me?" He yelled due to the distance between him and the soldiers.

"You IMC?" One of the soldiers yelled back.

"The fuck do you think?!" He yelled back, suddenly angered by the stupidity of the soldiers before him.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking dumbass!" He snapped back.

"Check your fucking radar." The corporal yelled, moving closer to the security checkpoint. Spencer made about five steps before a bullet whizzed past him.

In a deft movement Spencer loosed a single round, striking the offending grunt, the idiot he had been yelling with, in the center of their forehead.

"Anyone else not know how to read their fucking radar?" He asked rhetorically, stomping over to the underground security barricade. As he vaulted over one of the waist high metal walls he looked down to the dead soldier. He frowned, then turned to a grunt standing nearby.

The soldier startled at the sudden attention. "Learn to use your fucking equipment!" Spencer growled out, turning away in angered disgust as he strode towards a service elevator. Under his breath he grumbled, "I swear… and these idiots wonder why they drop like flies…"

With a sigh, he slammed his fist into the up arrow on the elevator. The doors rattled shut even as the metal cage lurched as it began its climb to the floor above.

The ride only took a minute or two, but Spencer was stressed all the same. He had no idea what awaited him back on the surface. For all he knew, he could be heading back into the fiery dust storm he barely escaped before. He placed his hand on the down button, just in case he needed to make a quick return.

As the metal cage lurched to a hard stop with a loud metallic rattle, the doors parted with a hydraulic hiss. Spencer looked outside the elevator at a small army of weapons pointed at him, fifteen pilots and a small group of grunts all aiming at the corporal.

Nervously, the pilot put up a hand in greeting to the other IMC personnel, literally looking down the barrel of a gun. "H-hey… Quite the uh… Reception here, huh?" He nervously chuckled.

"Where's your squad soldier?" One of the pilots asked, lowering their G2A4 slightly to speak to the corporal.

"Don't know. I lost contact after the first strike. I was outside at the time." The corporal shrugged nervously.

"What is their call sign?" The man asked.

"...Omega." Spencer said shortly, fidgeting slightly.

"FSOG huh?" The other pilot huffed out.

"Alright... Come with me." The pilot continued after a short pause, Spencer nodded and relaxed slightly when the others also lowered their weapons. "I'm going to be frank with you, the situation has gone to shit." The pilot said as he led Spencer out the rear of the building. "Most of Storrett is gone, we have starships falling out of orbit and our chain of command is fractured." The pilot continued as he motioned for Spencer to board a small fleet of goblin dropships.

"What do you mean Storrett is gone?" Spencer asked, confused.

"The Militia hit it with a heavy orbital bombardment, most of the city is gone." The pilot huffed, "My guess is that they went through with the strike, even after we scrambled the coordinates." The man shrugged, shaking his head, "It's a shame… All of those innocent people… just… gone."

Spencer had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, a mix between sorrow and anger. Spencer suddenly felt heavy, plopping down into an open seat on the goblin as it arced off to its destination. He felt like he had indirectly caused all of those people to die. He had never felt so guilty in his life, it must have shown in his body language because the other pilot placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's not your fault, blame the Militia, they're the ones who decided to blow up all those people." The man said with a comforting smile in his voice.

While it did nothing to quell his guilt, Spencer offered a strained, "Thanks." in reply.

Blessedly, Spencer didn't have time to wallow in his bout of self-shame for very long. Within the span of two minutes they had gone from the facility proper to a scattered, mangled skyscraper of a wreck. What was left of two halves of an IMC starship stood out against a wall of darkness that overtook the sky and a sea of green hills, smattered with fiery bits of jagged wreckage.

"Alright, listen up, IMC command has been scattered and inconsistent so now it's up to us to make sure shit stops hitting the fan!" A pilot barked out, he stood a head taller than everyone else, and had a physique that would put most to shame. "We have to secure that Starship, no matter the cost. Recon has already spotted Militia scavengers in the area." The man spoke with unquestionable authority, grabbing the attention of every soldier in the Goblin's crew compartment.

"We kill any Militia on sight and look for survivors. Is that understood?" The bear of a man barked.

"Yes sir!" The collective of soldiers yelled back.

Soon the shift of inertia as well as the screaming thrum of jet engines gaining several octaves as the Goblin screamed to a stop welcomed the pilots and grunts to their destination.

"Alright! Go go go!" Someone yelled as the soldiers disembarked. The pilots jumped from the back as the grunts ziplined from the sides.

Thankfully, the dropzone was clear of hostile soldiers, however the amount of debris in the area was a problem. Most of the area was covered in various metal panels and wiring, several larger chunks were in self made craters, others were on fire.

The other pilots took off in their own direction, leaving Spencer by himself. With a shrugged roll of his shoulders the corporal set off by himself, heading towards the heart of the starship.

As he made his way to the starship proper he heard several firefights break out. He ignored them, focusing on not running into an ambush.

As he forged on at a pace just faster than a light jog he kept his head on a swivel. Every time he had to use his jumpkit to boost over a pile of wreckage he used his air time to survey the area. So far nothing of interest had caught his eye. However, the closer he got to the crashed ship the warmer the air became. Seeing the source of the heat, the molten hole in the middle of the ship, the metal in and around the giant wound glowing various shades of reds, yellows and oranges.

He could see the heat distort the air around the area. Making a mental note to avoid that area he began to look for an area to enter the ship as he neared the miniature mountain of dirt that surrounded the main husk of the ship from all angles.

After a short climb up the dirt mountain he found a shattered viewport to climb into, the sound of glass clinking together echoing down the empty hallway. Walking was an awkward affair. Aside from ship being tilted at an angle, many of the bulkheads and supports were dented, making the angled ground also uneven.

As the pilot grunted over a heavily damaged, collapsed catwalk he paused at the sound of voices. Silently, and now much more alert he tried to maneuver as close as possible without alerting whoever was talking.

"Come on, grab the rest of that crap and let's go!" A voice cried out.

"Easier said than done, Lee!" Another voice called back.

"Yeah man, if were taking so fucking long then help out." There was another grunt of irritation from a third voice.

"Yeah, Lee, you can help out too. This shit is heavy, I do not want Sarah to leave our asses because you decided to watch." A woman grumbled out.

While he was unsure he had a hunch these people were Militia. With a flick of his saftey he began to ready his weapon, only to hunker back down at the sound of a door being forced open and several more voices.

"Why the hell are you not helping, grunt?" A voice grumbled.

"K-keeping watch sir!" The first voice he heard, Lee, stammered out.

"...Good on ya…" The newest voice drawled. "Get in there and help, we'll keep watch." It ordered.

"Y-yes sir!" Lee stuttered followed by a few muted chuckles.

Risking being caught, Spencer peaked his head up and paled at the sight. Twenty grunts, four Spectres and two pilots were now occupying area ahead of him. Swallowing the lump in his throat he made his way over to the foreman's office that overlooked the entire area.

Blessedly, everyone was occupied with sorting through a giant pile of IMC supply crates and containers. This made his job simpler, and despite the crooked angle of the ship, the tilted foreman's office offered decent cover.

With the windows already shattered the young pilot picked a target, the pair of pilots, who were looking over the grunts, casually talking to each other. He pulled his sidewinder from its clips on his back and targeted the two biggest threats.

He dumped the entire magazine into the area where they were standing, while the rockets didn't travel as fast as a bullet the distance to their target was short enough to not make a difference anyways.

The pilots were enveloped in a blossom of thunder, shrapnel and smoke. Spencer ducked back behind the cover as several bullets whizzed past him. As he switched to his R-101C he heard one of the Pilots screaming in agony, a piercing wail that was audible over the gunfire in the cavernous space.

As the shooting slackened, the corporal snapped up and struck three targets, two of them being grunts who flopped and folded under the hail of steel tipped projectiles that struck their softer forms. The third target was a Spectre, a duo of rounds striking its angular head, blowing it apart in a shower of metal, smoke and sparks. Before he could transition to a new target however he was forced to hunker back down.

Cursing out, he reloaded his weapon and waited for the shooting to slacken, something that didn't come. Spencer began to think of an alternative when he heard the Spectres stomping up the stairs to reach his position, the metal stairs rattling from the rapid forceful ascension of the drones. He waited, helmet pressed against the cheek rest on his rifle, face fixed in a scowl as he stared down the stairwell.

A few moments passed before the top of the Spectre's heads were visible. As soon as the steel craniums were visible, Spencer let out several short bursts. His first burst went wide as the machines closed the distance at an astonishing rate. Spencer's second and third bursts found purchase on the first machine, blowing away several chunks of internal systems as the machine fell over. His fourth burst clipped the second Spectre in the shoulder, spinning the machine in place almost ninety degrees, causing its shots to go wide.

Bullets plunked near his head and shoulders, causing the pilot to flinch in response. He cursed, pulled his weapon back on target, dumping his fifth burst into the machine's torso, causing it to seize up. The final Spectre took the time Spencer had spent engaging its allies to line up its shots.

Noticing the third Spectre, Spencer pulled his rifle to his right, firing a single round into the machine's head before the firing mechanism locked open, magazine spent.

Spencer frowned, then loosed a pained scream as the machine shuddered but still fired its weapon. He felt a searing pain in his right thigh and abdomen followed by a numb ache in his chest. Keying his stim system, he ripped his sidearm from its holster on his chest, emptying the entire magazine into the construct's form.

Spencer reloaded his spent magazine with a pained groan before he fumbled with his rifle. Once both weapons were reloaded, he check his immediate area for any threats before checking his body. His right pant leg was sporting a dark red patch of moisture, the once light grey fabric a deep blood red.

He then pressed his hand to his stomach. Hr instantly winced, releasing pained mixture of a hiss and a whimper. As he pulled his glove back he noticed the palm was coated in more of his blood. He threw his head back with a pained sigh. This was bad, at this rate he would bleed to death. He waited a short moment, when nobody else came to engage him personally he turned his attention to his chest plate. A large dent hand formed a small crater in the chest plate, almost as if someone had taken a hammer to the protective garb.

Peeling away enough of his armor to look at his chest directly he found a large bruise and a deformation in his kevlar and BDU where the bullet had dented the armor plate. With a sigh of relief he sealed his armor back up. The amount of gunshots still being aimed in his direction had proven that the enemy was still trying to kill him.

Just as he was about to move he heard several voices of grunts echoing in the stairwell. He levelled his rifle and cut down a small handful of grunts as they tried to assault his position. Eventually the Militia brave enough to try and face him directly were dead, just leaving those below him who were still shooting up at his position. Soon the pilot was again alone. Spencer then took that time to inject his stomach with Bio-Foam to seal his wound.

Spencer growled out a pained curse as he shimmied away far enough from the window to stand without getting shot. He then pulled up his local map to find an exit. Hobbling awkwardly he made his way to a empty corridor that led to a empty cafeteria.

Tables were strewn everywhere and several displaced ceiling panels and broken lights added to the disheveled atmosphere inside the room. Light filtered in at a slight angle, casting skewed complex shadows across the room. He found the massive set of windows on the far side of the room to be blown out, leaving billions of faceted chunks of glass with several larger shards of thick glass hanging precariously within their damaged, vacant frames.

With a hobbled limp the corporal made his way across the disheveled room. With pained labor he made his way across the room, climbing over overturned tables and chairs. The numb throbbing of his entire body the only indication that his stim system was still doing its job. He figured without it he wouldn't have made it as far as he would have.

Within the span of two minutes he had crossed the room that would of normally took a quarter of that time. Pulling himself through the window he stood on the outside of the ship, facing a giant wall of dust. Thankfully as the ship was oriented at such an angle as it was he was able simply turn around, walk a short distance and slide down the outer hull of the ship. Damaged as it was however, and wary of jostling himself too hard he made frequent stops, to make sure he didn't run into any jagged metal or holes in the hull.

As he approached the small mountain of freshly uprooted earth he slowed one last time and stood at the precipice of a sea of debris. Fighting could be heard and even seen from his perch. Militia and IMC having short but intense skirmishes within the literal shadow of a downed behemoth. He frowned, he would have to make it out of here before he bled to death. The round in his leg had missed an artery, but still bled at a steady rate. He had no intention of dying here, this would be a really shitty place to die.

With a huff of equal parts pain and displeasure he set out on his arduous journey.

As he made his way through the maze like sea of debris he took multiple pauses to make sure nothing was in the area that would be hostile to him. These things were mostly in the form of grunts or Militia spectres. However, he was also quite cautious of the presence of hostile pilots, some of which had the ability to use optical camouflage, rendering them nearly invisible.

Running into an enemy pilot in his current state would be certain death for Spencer. Quite understandably the pilot was cautious. Approaching an open trough of land, a large burrow where one of the starship's turbines broke away from the ship during the crash landing. Poking his head around the edge of the mangled four meter metal panel he was behind turned out to be a bad idea.

The young pilot jerked his head back as the antenna apparatus was blown off of his helmet. "God! Fuck!" He hissed out to himself as he recoiled back into cover. Predictably his radio completely cut out.

He hadn't considered using the device earlier, with an entire city destroyed and damage to the production facility, he doubted they would spare support. Not to mention it was unheard of for the IMC to send support to a single soldier, pilot or not. However, now that he didn't have the option to even attempt to radio for help he felt much more vulnerable.

Looking down at his wrist mounted tactical computer he gazed upon the read outs for his stim system. He had roughly thirty four percent functionality remaining before the system ran dry. Sending a brief command to his stim system he gave himself a small overdose to allow himself to be pushed even harder than a wounded person would be possible to do.

Time seemed to dilate as he felt the influx of the numbing drug. Pushing himself out of cover he broke to a full sprint. The usually agonizing pain from his wounds a dull ache as he cleared a large stretch of land. The hypersonic pops and zips of bullets narrowly missing him were the only sounds he heard. This meant that the Militia sharpshooter was still trying to kill him.

As he neared the next bundle of maze like debris the system returned to its normal settings. The sense of superhuman ability faded just in time to be replaced with flaring pain. Looking to the source of the pain he groaned out, a dark patch had appeared on his right shoulder, with another patch accompanying it right under his right clavicle.

The sniper had managed to hit him. And while Spencer was still in pain he did deduce that the caliber was smaller than he expected. Seeing as how his right arm was not gone or barely attached to his body, he estimated the offending weapon to be a R-101C modified to be a marksman rifle. Many pilots and grunts simply referred to it as a DMR, due to the configuration's heavy use by designated marksmen.

Taking a moment to shove down the flaring pain he was feeling, even as blood pooled across his torso, he pressed his weight against what looked like a bulkhead that had ejected itself from the tear in the ship. Feeling his eyes flutter in a daze, he begrudgingly spooled down his stim system. Passing out or falling asleep here would most likely result in death, either by loss of blood or by execution from Militia forces.

As the pain returned to him, forcing him to full alertness he moved on, hissing occasionally as he moved, taking cover where he could as sniper fire chased him. He looked back, toward the wreck of the ship. Due to the sheer size of the thing he had no sense of progress, not that he knew where he was going. At this point he had shambled on for a few minutes, aimless in his pursuit of safety. Part of him just thought of sitting down and staying put and hoping for IMC forces to find him. The gun battles in the distance around him had proven that fighting was still going on. He stood there for a moment, contemplating on hunkering down when the sound of several jumpkits caused him to turn around.

Turning around with sidearm in hand, leveled to the source of the noise he stared down several figures before relaxing. While he had lost his radio, his helmet was still able to identify friend from foe. Never in his life had he been so glad to see his squad. Lowering his weapon slightly he almost forgot where he was. He stood there, not sure if he was hallucinating from blood loss or if he was actually in reality. It wasn't until an explosion, close enough to feel but not see shook him out of his reverie.

"Jesus! Spencer, you okay?!" Torrento asked as he stood stupefied by the battle worn figure of his ally. Blood had soaked his entire torso, leaving only pockets of dirty gray uniform to stand out against the dark red that had stained his uniform. His right leg was in a similar state, not to mention the ragged, tired stature the young pilot was sporting.

Wardd made a few movements to the rest of his squad, which for the most part were ignored as they regarded Spencer even as Bishop moved forward.

Spencer opened his mouth to speak when he felt the breath leave his body. He felt liquid, warm and thick pool somewhere in his chest, even as he looked down to see the stain in his chest redouble in moisture. The metal breastplate he wore sported a new hole over the right side of his chest.

Spencer drew out a gasp, filled with less oxygen than his wounded form required and suddenly felt very heavy. Sinking to his knees even as his vision tunneled and grew murky, as Wardd bellowed out a warning to his squad to search for snipers, the pilot looked down to his chest, staring at the dime sized exit wound.

He heard the last warbling, distored sounding cries of his allies as his vision finally lost focus and was promptly consumed by black. Moments later only the heavy thud of his body hitting the ground was there to usher him into a world of black.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN:I tried to get this one out on Christmas... didn't quite make the mark. Regardless here is the chapter, I hope I kept the characters as consistent as possible during this one, let me know what you guys think!**

December 11, 0716 Hours

Bishop sat at the edge of her wingman's bed. It was the first time they would let anyone see him. From what the doctors had told her, he was able to get his right lung cloned and replaced. The hole in his torso had also required a cloned set of intestines. Extensive surgeries had taken up the first two days of his return to the Eden. A day of rest was mandated by the medical staff, leaving today being the first day his squad or any other officers would be allowed to see him.

She had come early in the morning, around six thirty. She heard that some of the senior engineering officers wanted feedback on the Ares. Captain North had also sent some of his senior staff to debrief the soldier about an hour after he was cleared for visitors. She sighed, glanced at Spencer's face, then down at her wristwatch, bored.

Spencer frowned, made a strange noise mixed with discomfort and moved a bit. The steady beeps of his EKG monitor gaining pace as the man continued to stir. Bishop looked on confused and slightly worried before the soldier bolted up in a pained gasp. He then nearly doubled over in agony at the quick, jarring movement, releasing a mixture of mewled pain and a heavy groan.

The pilot struggled for oxygen, took several tender, shallow breaths, then eventually calmed himself.

Bishop exhaled her own relieved breath before looking over Spencer's form. He was paler than usual, she assumed from all the blood he had lost a few days ago.

"So, you're finally awake huh?" She asked, a slight edge to her voice.

Spencer startled, then turned to Bishop. "B-bishop…! How long have you been here?" He asked, voice lacking its usual tone and energy.

"About an hour or so... So how did your little stunt turn out?" She responded the malice in her voice starting to build.

"What?" The corporal responded weakly.

"You know what I'm talking about!" She snapped, screaming at herself internally, this wasn't how she wanted this to happen. "I don't immediately respond to your feelings so you try to get yourself killed! Don't think I didn't notice your change in attitude." She simmered, an angry glare across her features.

Now it was Spencer's turn to get angry? "I end up hospitalized and the first thing you do is yell at me?!" He barked back, he winced from the tender feeling in his chest but pressed on. "You think I let this happen to myself on fucking purpose?! How stupid can you be?"

"You're the one who promised not to go and die on me, and next thing I know… you're in critical condition! All because you wanted to be a little bitch and not face the possibility of not having your feelings reciprocated!" Bishop yelled back, she was angry, at him and herself. She felt like crying, apologising, she was angry but didn't mean to take her anger out on him.

She watched as her wingman's face twisted in a visage of pure rage, hatred and disdain before he quickly deflated. "Get out. I'm not going to sit here and get yelled at." He ordered her.

Bishop sat stunned, scoffed then began to talk, "W-what, so y-"

"LEAVE, BISHOP." He said much more firmly.

Bishop opened her mouth, closed it, then frowned. Standing with a growl she stomped out of the room. She made it about halfway down the hallway before she let out growl of anger, wishing she had something to hit. Her growl slowly bled into a sob as she pushed her back against the closest bulkhead. She stressfully ran her fingers through her half-shaved hair, as she sunk to the floor, sobbing the entire time.

She was furious at herself, she was angry at him of course, but she was ecstatic he was safe. She wanted to have a normal conversation, not yelling, just chatting. It didn't help that Spencer was the one Bishop vented to, especially since she was angry with him. It wasn't just Spencer either. She was furious the Militia, in the days following the strike, the majority of human occupied space had learned of the orbital bombardment. The Militia took the blame, claiming that their use of extreme force was uncalled for. This only made the situation worse as Adaena was a planet that wanted nothing to do with the Militia in the first place.

What the universe had just witnessed was the Frontier Militia commit genocide on a mass scale. The official figures reported over ninety-five million people killed with another two million missing, not to mention almost a million people who were in critical conditions within hospitals in the surrounding area and starships. Bishop felt lost, hollow. The people she believed were trying to save the frontier had done more damage in the span of a few seconds than the entire IMC campaign had done.

The IMC wasn't clear of blame either, they offered that a different tactic could have been used. Saying their negligence had allowed the civilians of the frontier to be put in danger.

The biggest concern out of the entire situation was the fracturing of both factions. Blisk, losing most of his forces in the bombardment, canceled his contract and started a mercenary company formed from the survivors of his men. The Militia had also heavily fractured, they split into three main branches, one led by a pilot, one by the Militia's current leader of sorts and one led by a Titan wars veteran. All of which went their separate ways shortly after the break up.

This dampened the Militia's effective fighting force considerably, leaving the IMC free to sweep through their stunned and confused fleet within the system. Eventually the Militia forces, or what remained of them, jumped out of the system, with an IMC General leading a small portion of the remaining IMC fleet to chase after them.

This left a large portion of the IMC fleet behind. Many of the ships were damaged, some were crippled, barely able to function, let alone jump into a system where they could be drydocked and repaired. Many of the ships that were able to navigate and had suffered damage, such as the Eden, had managed to make jumps to neighboring systems and planets for repairs. This left the remaining IMC forces to rebuild and help the citizens of Adaena, something they had denied the Militia.

Bishop found herself concerned, both for the frontier and her wingman. Frustration had only built as she realized she couldn't help or protect either of the two. Her frustration quickly turned to anger which had led to the little episode in the hospital.

With a sigh she eventually hauled herself from the floor, glad it was still relatively early, she didn't want anyone to see her previous display of weakness. Suddenly feeling heavy and very tired she meandered her way back to her bunk, her boots clunking heavily with each step.

Grateful for the lack of orders from Captain North, or any other superior officer for that matter, she flopped onto her bed. Alone and upset, she felt like crying, something which she indulged herself in.

It was a handful of hours before she had worked up the courage to apologize. She had spent time in The Pit, adjusting her Titan. She ate with her squad in the cafeteria, trying to hide the origins of her foul mood. It was something that proved rather easy given the recent series of events. Eventually she felt drained and hollow, tiring of their company. After she excused herself from the group, she found herself drifting back towards the infirmary. She passed by other personnel in similarly numb states. Many people had family in Storrett. Now that they were gone they were at a loss.

For Bishop however, her attention was occupied by thoughts of her wingman. Standing outside of his room, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and steeled herself.

Keying the door to open she was greeted to simulated sunlight of a warm summer day upon rolling green hills overlooking a lake. A holographic display stimulating an environment with ambient sound as an accompaniment.

Spencer turned to the disturbance, and upon noticing Bishop, scowled slightly. He purposely put down the tray of food, which Bishop assumed was his lunch, glancing at her watch to confirm her assumption.

A heavy sigh greeted Bishop. "What do you want?" The pilot asked, glaring daggers at the woman.

Bishop shrunk back, suddenly nervous and meek, uncharacteristic of herself.

"...I...I-I came to apologize…" She muttered, an undertone of sincerity in her words. "What I said earlier… I… It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair to you." She continued on. She noticed Spencer's face soften just slightly.

She pressed on, "I was angry, at the IMC, at you, but especially at the Militia." As she spoke she found herself speaking faster, forcing herself to pause and check her flaring emotions.

"So you took your anger out on me?" Spencer asked, an edge to his voice.

"Yes, and that was wrong of me." Bishop admitted. "I said a lot of hurtful things to you, words that shouldn't have been said and that I can never take back." Bishop paused, Spencer's angry face was unsettling. Normally she would have gotten angry in return, but she quelled the retaliatory emotion with a deep breath. "You bared your soul to me, and I shouldn't have called you out on it… even if you were acting like a little bitch afterwards."

Still scowling, Spencer sighed then spoke up. "I guess… I guess I owe you an apology as well." He glanced to Bishop, face serious with a slight undertone of emotion in between shame and regret. "I didn't want to take my frustration or anger out on you back then. I shouldn't have acted like I did… but it was better than lashing out at you."

Bishop cringed, not at his words but her own actions. Spencer had the self control to not vent his frustrations on Bishop, while she did not. She felt the burning blush of embarrassment grace her features as she forced herself to speak.

"Spencer… I…" Her voice trailed off. Taking a deep breath she tried again. "Spencer, I thought about it… W-what you said... Back then. And I…" She again found herself speechless emotions yet again threatening to hamper this conversation. This earned a curious and much softer expression from Spencer.

"I was surprised, part of me had thought you maybe liked me, back in Anbul. You know, when we watched that movie and -GAH- I'm making a mess of this…" Bishop stressfully continued. "I was so worried when we found you, you know... I had spent these last three days stressfully waiting for information on your condition. I had thought you died… When I found out… When I found out you were alive I was relieved, ecstatic, that you were okay." She fumbled on.

Spencer had a faint beginnings of a smile on his face. He turned to face Bishop, legs hanging over the side of the bed.

"It wasn't until then, when they told me you were going to make it, that I felt the knot in my chest fade away. I took me a moment to realize that I was scared." She looked up from her lap to Spencer, her eyes red and puffy, moisture pooling along the edges. "I was scared of losing you. And I realized that I felt the same way you did…" She finished lamely.

Spencer smirked, causing Bishop to fluster. "And what way would that be?" He teased before she got angry.

Bishop broke eye contact with the man and looked away sheepishly. With a flushed face she muttered, "...That I love you…"

Grinning devilishly he replied, "What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"I...I said I love you, dammit!" She nearly snapped back, her face and tone still embarrassed. She glared for a short moment before looking away from the man. "I can… I can understand if you don't feel the same way anymore. I said horrible things to you, and I acted like a bi-" She started out with a pitiful tone of voice and moisture in her eyes, sniffling slightly.

Her wingman cut her short however with a heartfelt, sudden embrace. Bishop fell silent in shock, body rigid with surprise. "It's fine Bishop… I still love you. I'm not going anywhere." Spencer offered warmly, squeezing her a little closer to himself.

Bishop simply clutched the man as her own emotional barriers crumbled away. She sat there, hugging the man back as she silently sobbed away on his shoulder, babbling softly to herself.

Spencer simply held her closer, rubbing gentle circles in her back. They sat like this for some time, holding each other for what felt like a happy eternity. Eventually Bishop pulled back ever so softly, prompting Spencer to reluctantly let her go.

Bishop looked to his face, noticing streaks of moisture leaving a trail across his skin. "Are you crying?" She asked with a sniffle.

"A little," came back his voice, "I've never been this happy before." He smiled back.

Bishop smiled, relishing the feeling of warmth in her chest the entire situation was making her feel. Staring into his eyes for a moment she faltered slightly, looking down. "A-are you sure about this? I… I know I'm not the prettiest girl. And I'm a brash, broody tomboy. An-"

To Bishops relief he interrupted her with a kiss. "I said I love you, Bishop." While it wasn't as intimate as to involve either of their tongues, it was passionate and heartfelt nonetheless. "You're perfect the way you are."

Still a little dazed from their recent oral contact, she simply offered a sheepish, "O-oh…". She looked back at Spencer to see the sincerity in his eyes, and smiled. Laying her head on his shoulder she smiled. "I really lucked out with you, huh?"

"I'm just glad I had the courage to admit my feelings." He chuckled back.

"You really don't mind the scars?"

"I like them. It fits your personality."

"You don't mind _that_ either?"

"It's nice to know you have a soft side, just for me." He smiled.

"I… Wh… Well don't expect me to go soft on you now that we're together!...But…" Bishop was silent for a moment. "...I ...I'm glad." She smiled at him, giving him a peck on the cheek as she locked her fingers through his.

Spencer sighed happily in response, electing to watch the holographic display with Bishop. The two sat in companionable silence for some time, simply enjoying each other's company. Spencer was the first to break this silence.

"Soooo. Do you want me to keep calling you 'Bishop'?"

She chuckled, "What, Bishop 's not good enough for you?" Her tone was humorous even as she wore a mocking smirk to glance up at Spencer. She smiled when he flustered.

"I- No! I just thou-"

"It's fine, hotshot." She smiled. "My name is Sam." She told him.

"Sam?" He asked, more for confirmation than strangeness.

"Short for Samantha… My… Uhh… dad, used to call me Sam. It was his nickname for me."

"I like it." He responded. "Sam." He tried her name, electing an expectant smile from her.

"And what's your name?" She asked, "Fair's fair."

"Devin." The corporal replied.

"Devin, huh?" Sam echoed. "Sooo, what? You have two first names?" She teased.

"You still on about that?" Devin asked incredulously.

"Well, you do!" She teased.

"Well technically I have three, if you count my middle name." The man teased.

"And what would that be?" Sam pried, curious.

"I gotta have some secrets, right?"

Mock pouting, she muttered a, "You're no fun…" earning a laugh from Spencer.

This was followed by more companionable silence, before Spencer spoke again. " ...You know we will have to act like we used to around the others, right?" He said seriously. "We could get in trouble, with the IMC."

"So what? Who cares?" Bishop teased.

"Sam…" Spencer said, voice between deadpan and a whined sigh.

"I know, I know." Bishop reassured him. "But when we're alone…" She trailed off.

"I'll be as affectionate as you want me to." Devin responded with a mischievous smirk.

Sam chuckled gaily and gave Devin another kiss. This was followed by more silence, with Sam eventually breaking the lull in conversation.

"...You know… I haven't cried this much in forever."

"What do you mean?" Devin asked, glancing over to Sam, whose face was somewhere in between shame and embarrassment.

"It tore me up… the way I uh… talked... to you… This morning." She sighed, "I've also never felt this… girly before."

"Is the latter such a bad thing?" Devin asked.

"It's just… Different." Sam complained, with a huff. "I mean, it's just I-"

The beeping of her watch interrupted her train of thought. Glancing down with a scowl she frowned at the displayed time.

Noticing her frown Spencer did the obvious. "What's wrong?" His voice was laced with confused concern.

"Wardd wanted us to meet up for some simulations." She admitted bitterly. "He said we 'Might as well do something with our free time.'." She mocked, performing a crude imitation of Wardd's voice.

Spencer chuckled at her pouting. "As much as I'd love to spend more time with you, you probably shouldn't keep him waiting. You know how he gets." The corporal sighed out, admittedly disappointed that their time was cut short.

With her own huff of defeat, she acquiesced, "I guess I'll talk to you later…" She spoke, giving him a peck on the forehead. "I love you." She said awkwardly, still not used to the three word phrase.

"Love you too. Kick their asses for me, Sam." Spencer smiled.

Sam nodded with a blush, stood and walked towards the door. Pausing to look over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway, she smiled briefly before stepping towards the simulation rooms.

Bishop found herself upon one of the roofs in Angel City, a recreation of the IMC super city deeper into the frontier. However, its real world counterpart had supposedly been taken by Militia mercenary forces, but that was another matter entirely.

Her boots thudded rapidly as she approached Fanucchi, sitting atop a building firing down MGL grenades, striking several Spectre drones and the occasional passing Titan.

As preoccupied as the man was, she ran up and ripped his Hammond P2011 from his hip holster. This invoked a startled look over his shoulder just in time to catch a round in the back of his head. His helmet blew into pieces from the point blank round, metallic chunks flickering away as their data was registered as destroyed. The force of the bullet caused the man to face plant into the concrete and aluminium paneling that made up the roof of the building.

Bishop then relentlessly pumped another six bullets into the back of the man's head, until his body went limp. As his simulated corpse began to twitch she casually discarded his sidearm. Moments later both the weapon and Fanucchi's digital corpse winked out of existence with an electronic frazzle.

"Now, that's one dead Pilot." Captain Herrod, a veteran pilot who helped overlook Simulation training, commented.

Bishop simply scoffed, Fanucchi wasn't particularly hard to sneak up on. The man knew his explosives, most of the time, but he could be a little slow on his reaction times and situational awareness. She knew he would complain about it after the simulation but she didn't care.

Just as she turned to leap off the roof of the building, her body was rocked sideways from what felt like a horse kick to the head. Even as her world went black and her perspective shifted to watch the digital recreation of herself have its helmet blow into pieces from a lethal headshot from her squad leader. She watched her own corpse stagger forward diagonally before tripping over itself and falling down.

The simulation identifying the weapon that killed her as an "amped" G2A4. In reality the weapon would have simply been a modified G2A4 that fired larger caliber rounds. However that was the least of her concerns as the simulation faded away as her pod was opened.

Blinking away the spots in her vision from the abrupt brightness, she stood with a groaned stretch. A sense of vertigo and imbalance flooded her senses as she tried to acclimate herself back to reality. When the sensation passed she moved to a cluster of monitors that displayed various things about the match she was in. Two of these displays showed her two remaining teammates.

Miller and Gomez both worked to find and kill Decker and Wardd, even as their Grunts and Spectres duked it out in the streets below. Wardd had taken the teams into a split of Gomez, Turner, Torrento, Bishop and Miller versus Decker, Fanucchi and Himself. Needless to say the two veterans had mopped the floor with the other squad members.

Something which they continued to do as Wardd put three rounds into Gomez, leaving a triangular pattern in the Pilot's chest. Miller fared much worse as he set off several Arc Mines. Stunned from the shock he was helpless and Decker spun the pilot around before bringing a knee to Miller's stomach. As the man doubled over, Decker supported Millers weight with his left hand on Miller's shoulder as Decker used his right to yank his RE-45 Autopistol from his holster.

Pressing the weapon into the torso of the winded pilot, Decker squeezed the trigger, emptying the entire magazine into the pilot's abdomen. As Miller jerked and flinched with each impact, Decker simply stepped to the side as Miller went limp. His body face planting as his boots kicked up behind him before similarly thudding to the ground.

Shortly afterward the screen faded to black, the word, "DEFEAT" printed boldly across the screen.

With a sigh of frustration she listened as the PA system blared through the room. "Attention: Terminating: Simulation. Be advised that simulation participants may be dazed and or confused. Caution is advised when interacting with these individuals."

The sound of four simulation pods depressurizing then opening soon greeted the other pilots and IMC crew. "Fine work. Although… That was a little lopsided." Captain Herrod grinned.

Wardd shrugged, slight discomfort upon his features. "They had numbers on their side."

"Yeah, but numbers don't mean jack shit against skill and experience." Herrod countered.

Wardd grinned. "Maybe, maybe not, point being, I had hoped they would have managed to take one of us out."

"Then these guys need some work…" Herrod mused. "Besides, I got to see some magnificent Pilot on Pilot brutality. So I can't really complain, now can I?" The captain was once again all smiles.

Fanucchi groused, "Yeah, what the hell, Bishop?!" Frowning he turned to the female pilot. "That was overkill. You didn't have to shoot me with my own gun, that many times."

Bishop shrugged, "I keep telling you to watch your six. Had to get it through your thick head somehow." She joked. This earned a laugh from the rest of Omega squad. "Besides, I think Decker took the cake with his little display."

"Hey, gotta add a little personal flare to the things I do." Was all Decker responded with.

"And while I hate to ruin this moment, time for the official breakdown." Herrod cleared his throat. "Bravo team..." He motioned to the majority of Omega squad. "You eliminated three Titans, seventy-two Grunts and thirty-three Spectres."

Herrod paused, looking about the faces collected about him before continuing. "You eliminated one pilot."

Clapping his hands together he changed topics. "Alpha team! You eliminated four Titans, twenty-seven Grunts, thirty Spectres and five pilots." Herrod laughed heartily, "Less kills overall, but you killed all of their force multipliers. Good job, even if you would have lost this battle, you cost the enemy a great deal."

"Bravo team! The majority of you were killed by one person. Get some work done on fixing that."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Gomez complained. "Wardd is like a god with that rifle!"

"That's no excuse, if you practiced with own weapon you would be just as good. Sounds like you need some practice with your weapons. All of you, hit the weapon range."

"Even me, Wardd?" Decker asked hopeful that his squad leader would answer in the negative.

"Yes, you too." Decker deflated as Wardd spoke. "I want at least five sets, I want to see some improvements." He ordered, eliciting a dreadful groan from his squad.

Bishop, voicing her own string of complaints trudged along to the firing range with her squad. She wasn't particularly looking forward to try and improve a skill that was already far above that of a standard combatant. Still, it was something to do whilst the Eden was en route to a shipping yard large enough and capable enough to refit and repair an IMC warship.

Days had passed since he had first been admitted to the Eden's hospital. The Eden was another eighteen hours from its destination, a planet named Herus. The Eden had suffered significant damage to its main engines as well as its electrical systems. This had caused the ship's mobility to drop to speeds five times slower than average, effectively crippling the warship.

Spencer sighed and with a groaned stretch rubbed the soreness out of his limbs. He had been in multiple physical therapy classes and resulting fitness tests. They wanted to make sure he recovered properly, and that he was still capable. He had passed with "flying colors" if the sneered comment of the medical officer was to be believed.

Now that he had finished his final session of the abysmally dreadful therapy sessions he was sore. Not to mention matted in sweat. His squad was doing another batch of simulations, running multiple "survival" situations to improve their skill against daunting odds. He was alone, not that he minded, he would take a hot shower, relax then sleep.

Stepping into the attached latrine. Well furnished when compared to the older military standards set by the ancient governments of Earth. Stepping into the shower units, he moved to the furthest of the two stalls. Stripping nude he stood under a cascade of hot water. Sighing in relief, he stood with his hand pressed against the far wall. He leant forward, allowing the water to run down his back and pour off the top of his head. Closing his eyes, he let out a soft groan, relishing in the sensation of hot water unwinding his tense muscles. It was a warm bliss that he wanted to enjoy for eternity. Thankfully due to how IMC ships were constructed, he was able to do just that.

Zoned out, he simply took deep, relaxed breaths as steam slowly filled the shower units. Taking a reluctant pause from his relaxation he actually began to clean himself. Starting from the feet up, he dutifully scrubbed every inch of flesh he could reach, once again relishing the feeling of being clean. And with hygiene out of the way he was free to relax within the stream of water once more.

Resuming his posture once more he stood for another few moments of relaxed silence until he felt the presence of another. He felt arms squeeze around his waist as a pair of large, soft breasts pressed into his back.

Smiling he spoke, "...Mmmm, hey Sam…" He murmured, a smile in his voice and upon his face.

"Hey, hotshot." She smiled as he turned around in her grasp, facing her.

"I missed you." He smiled, leaning down slightly to kiss her.

Eagerly returning his affections she murmured contentedly, "I missed you too." She leaned in for another kiss before speaking, "...You know, this is a good look for you, Devin."

"What? Naked and wet?" He joked.

"Yeah…" Sam smiled, biting her lower lip.

"Well, that's what happens when you catch me at the end of a shower." Devin smirked.

"Well, if you're clean…" Sam trailed off, stepping back from Devin. "How about you help me get clean too?" She teased, opening her arms as if presenting herself.

Devin paused, taking in her naked body, as if seeing it for the first time. A statement which was technically true. He had seen her in various stages of undress, however, those had always been fleeting moments. Neither of them had presented themselves to the other, let alone be openly naked.

"You gonna pick your jaw up, off the floor, and help me out?" Sam asked, an embarrassed smile on her face. "This is kind of embarrassing."

Closing his mouth that he hadn't even noticed was open he agreed with enthusiasm. "Yeah, sure!..."

"Alright…" Sam smiled, relieved and still a little embarrassed. While she was interested in the man before her, and had a great deal of trust for him she was still unfamiliar, let alone nervous with such situations. "P-Please be gentle…" She muttered, even as Devin lathered his hands in body wash in preparation to clean his newfound lover. "O-oh…" She gasped as she felt his firm but gentle hands begin at her shoulders. "You can touch, b-buuut nothing to-ooooo sexual." She managed to get out in wavered tones as he got to work. "You're goi-ng to have to earn tha-aat…"

"Of course…" He murmured as he kissed the junction of the bottom of her jaw and neck. Even as his hands got to work.

Her body was well toned, a constant hint of muscle across her body. Nothing overbearing, she wasn't a bodybuilder or anywhere close to it. She still had plenty of feminine suppleness to her body. Sam was soft and womanly in many ways and he worked his hands to complement that. The woman before him was quite well endowed, to the point of having a physique of a porn star.

Wide hips, thick thighs, a toned midriff, and a heavy ass with just the right balance of tone, and perkiness. Not to mention her breasts, hand overflowing orbs of softness, just shy of proper E-Cups with enough natural perk to prevent sagging of any kind. Devin felt lucky, to have someone with a body such as hers to have taken such interest in him. He felt as if he was running his hands across a living sculpture.

Such was shown in his devotion of his hands, which worked to lather her up as well as work out the numerous knots throughout her tense body. He murmured his appreciation as well as showed it through his body's own reaction as well as gropes of appreciation across her body.

However, against calls of action from his own body and the appreciative groans and moans of Sam as he worked his hands, he kept his libido in check. He stayed true to his words, taking a step back from her so his maleness was constantly rubbing through the cleavage of her butt.

Grunting in frustration, due to his now awkward posture making it difficult to now scrub and clean Sam's body he spoke up. "Y-you don't mind do you?"

"What? Your dick rubbing through my ass?" Sam giggled. "I would have said something if I did." He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"I… okay. I'm sorry, it's hard to concentrate with it like this. But it's also hard to wash you like that…" He trailed off, causing Sam to look over her shoulder at him, even as she worked her fingers through her half shorn hair.

Devin had this look as if he was seriously considering taking her right here and now, failing to act through sheer willpower. Sam felt a fluttering in her chest, feeling a deep emotion that she couldn't quite describe at the sight of seeing him try so hard to keep his word. "It's okay." She smiled, looking to her lover. "I'll help you scrub me down."

With a nod he resumed his earlier position of proximity, working his hands to scrub her down instead of lather her up. The two worked in silence, even as Devin placed his strapping length back within the sinfully soft and warm confines of the cleavage of her perfectly sculpted cheeks.

Soon enough Sam was clean, and with reluctance she turned to face Spencer, pressing her lips to his briefly as the suds washed off her form to be whisked away down the drain. "You did great, and thanks… for honoring my request." She kissed him again.

His response was a happily contented, "I love you, Sam." earning a smile and a hug from the woman.

"I love you too." She murmured into his chest, eventually pulling away after an enjoyable moment. "Come on, I could use some help getting dressed." She winked.

Devin simply smiled, following after her, eager to spend more time with the woman he loved.

One shared moment full of giggles, gropes and kisses and the two were dressed once again.

"Ready?" She asked.

"For?"

"We have to find something to do before this boat comes in for a landing." Sam grinned.

"Alright, I'm game." Devin shrugged with a smile, looking forward to passing time with Sam. After all, it beat being alone.


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry about the lack of chapter for last month. This chapter turned out much longer than any of the others I've written so I wanted to take my time with this one. Content warning for this chapter. Let me know what you guys think and thanks for reading!**

December 20, 1351 Hours

The bright mid-day sun bore down from its perch high in the blue sky, casting crisp shadows upon all under its domain. That domain currently included two towering metal behemoths of IMC Titans currently currently patrolling the area.

Behind the machines a handful of miles away was the IMS Eden. The majority of the Eden was bare, massive plating panels stripped away to allow easier access to the superstructure of the ship. Many of the systems were damaged and need to replaced. Nothing too critical, but extensive all the same.

Moments after the IMS Eden dry-docked, Captain North had ordered the majority of those capable of combat to guard duty. This translated into several squads of pilots and grunts as well as a few compliments of Spectre racks to patrol the perimeter of the shipyard. Being deep in IMC territory many soldiers groused about the added security. However, with recent events still in mind they aptly performed their assigned jobs.

This patrol had gone on for several days, with security increasing as more IMC ships warped into the area. Some were in dire needs of repair, much like the Eden, while others provided additional security and close air support.

Eventually, after almost a week of no Militia activity, the IMC became a little more relaxed in how heavy handed their security was. North had even offered his men shore leave starting tomorrow as repairs continued to be made. This had considerably increased the morale of his weary men who looked forward to a chance to unwind and perhaps mourn their losses. As such, the two pilots currently patrolling the outermost west sector were in high spirits.

"So… You looking forward to this break?" Spencer asked as he slowly walked his Titan along the outer walls of the shipyard.

"I… Maybe? I don't see how you guys can just take a break… act like nothing happened." Bishop groused, her tone belittling the simmering anger she held within her.

"Bishop… We're not-"

"I know. I know… It's just... " She deflated, "We should be out _there_… helping." Spencer's wingman sighed.

Giving a sad chuckle he spoke up, voice barely above a whisper over the radio. "You know… we still can't go into the heart of the city. And if what the news networks are reporting is true… We've found nothing but death…." The man sighed grimly.

"I know… but I still want to help, nonetheless. I mean, the IMC will help rebuild right?"

Spencer was silent for a long time, responding with a short, "I hope so."

The two sat in somber silence. The subject at hand was a touchy one. Bishop had wanted to help the people of the frontier, and with the recently transpired events, that urge was significantly multiplied. Spencer on the other hand had a numb sort of feeling. On one hand he mourned the death of so many innocents. On the other, he was stricken with an almost unfathomable sense of retribution, to repay every civilian's death with Militia blood.

He kept his former thoughts to himself however, partly in fear of angering Bishop. The other reason was, just as Bishop pointed out, many of the Militia must have disagreed with the tactics used. He couldn't condemn so many based on the decisions of a few. So he resigned himself to having a somber state of mind about the entire situation, because realistically, it was the only viable response. At least Bishop understood this, despite the fact that her complaints said otherwise.

The two were silent for some time before they were approached by other IMC pilots, they were both piloting Stryders, one with a triple threat and the other with a 40mm cannon. From the stylized "A" symbol emblazoned on the chassis of both of the machines he recognized both of the machines as the Ares Division. These guys were more or less the "research division" of the Frontier IMC. "Hey, you two F-SOG? Omega?"

Bishop spoke up. "Yeah…?"

The Stryder jerked its thumb behind it, toward the direction it came from. "Your shift is over, we'll take over from here. You're to report to Captain North."

"Order authorization?" Spencer asked, not skeptical per say but wanting to check the authenticity of said orders.

"Alpha Romeo Seven Six Four Niner Eight Hotel Two" One of the pilots reported back.

There was a pause as Spencer verified the order, matching what they said and the verification to said order. "Alright, seems in order." Spencer muttered over his Atlas' loudspeaker.

As the groups swapped places and patrol routes Spencer spoke up. "Just a heads up, there are some dock workers using some Atlases for heavy lifting and hazard construction. Hard to miss em, bright yellow in color, driven by civvies." The corporal spoke. "Try not to give them too much trouble alright, we had a talk with em earlier… a lot of them had family in Storrett…"

Both Bishop and Spencer had expected the two to scoff or blow off their concern, however one of them compassionately dismissed their concerns. "...Don't worry about us… we've all lost something back in Storrett…" Their tone was somber, almost reminiscent.

"Good luck out there, stay safe." Bishop said as the two groups parted. She eventually turned her Ogre to walk alongside her wingman's Atlas.

"That went well…" Spencer chuckled.

"Yeah… let's see what North wants."

"Shore leave. One month, mandatory." North said voice strained with stress. His subordinates could see the weight upon his shoulders. Rumor was he had lost his entire family back in Storrett, on top of having to care for those under his command and the many rising fires that recent events had caused. "Right now the Eden is a dead ship, the area is being secured by the reserve portion of the Ares Division. Ship repairs will take around a month to complete, so I'm giving that time off to you. Don't do anything stupid… be back in one month's time or you will be reported AWOL… dismissed." He nearly sighed, as he announced to the majority of his crew who had assembled in one of the ship's still functional hangars.

With the breakout of a collective murmur the amassed people began to slowly trickle out of the area. Omega squad found itself grouped together, hanging around one of the bulkheads that walled the cargo hold from the hangar. The grouped pilots had an apprehensive aura about them. The idea of a break or a vacation of sort was very appealing. However, such a break on the heels of the recently transpired orbital bombardment of Storrett had left them feeling undeserving of such a vacation.

Wardd was the first to speak, breaking an awkward, palpable silence that grew upon the group. "I shouldn't have to tell you all to be careful…" He spoke, just short of a frustrated drawl. "We've lost a lot of lives recently… no need to lose more. Keep your heads on straight and your wits about you. Be careful out there." Wardd finished dismissively, ambling away to prepare for his own leave.

"See you guys in a month I guess…" Turner spoke with flagging enthusiasm.

"Yeah. Same here…" Spencer mimicked Turner's tone.

As the others parted ways, Decker called out to Bishop. "H-Hey! Bishop!" Catching her attention and causing her to turn around she cocked an eyebrow at the veteran pilot. Seeing that he had her attention he continued on. "I uh… I wanted to apologize. About before…. It was-I shouldn't have done what I did… No hard feelings?"

With a chuckled sigh she responded with a "You're fine, Decker."

With an awkward pause between the two, Decker spoke with an even weirder sounding response. "You, uh… enjoy your break." He replied, obviously still embarrassed or ashamed about his previous interactions with her.

Bishop simply chuckled and walked out the hangar, towards the crew quarters. As she made her way through the winding corridors and walkways to her quarters she eventually caught up to her wingman. Slugging him in the arm as she reunited with him she grinned. "Couldn't wait for me huh? And why are you walking so fast?" She glanced over her shoulder, back the way she came. He had made quite the distance in the two or three minutes her awkward exchange with Decker carried out.

"Sorry. You seemed… preoccupied." He chuckled, rubbing his arm where she had punched him.

Bishop responded with a glower. "Was two minutes such a long time to wait?" She frowned, a slightly playful undertone in her voice.

"I can get a lot done in two minutes." Spencer responded with slight exaggeration in his voice.

"Ass." She punched him again, harder, still smiling.

The two continued in companionable silence for about another minute or so before reaching their own quarters. Other people were milling about, moving to and from rooms and bunks, packing their small handfuls of items and personal effects. The two stepped into the small space that they called their bunk. Spencer moved into the attached washroom to retrieve both their toiletries, as Bishop started to pack her own clothes.

Tossing her hygenic items onto her bed, he moved over to his side of the room, packing the few items he had into a moderately sized backpack. He didn't have much in the way of underclothes. A week's worth of underwear, three spare "civilian" outfits, and his formal dress uniform. Deciding he wouldn't need the dress uniform or his extra BDUs he neatly folded his clothing as small as possible, carefully packing the backpack as neatly as possible. He glanced over his shoulder to Bishop, who seemed to be doing the same. Her face had its default expression of a slight scowl as she worked. Deciding that the two of them didn't need to work in complete silence he spoke to her. "Hey, Sam." He called for her attention.

Her expression softened slightly, "Yeah, Devin?"

"Think of anywhere good to go, or do on break?"

"Not really. I mean, having a vacation literally was the furthest thing from my mind." She paused, not wanting to bring up the events of Storrett into the conversation. "I mean, I'm okay with whatever you have planned, if you even _have_ anything planned." She looked to him, half of her face partially veiled by her half shorn hair.

"Well, I didn't really have anything in particular, but…" He trailed off, focusing on folding one of his bulkier jackets neatly. "I was thinking we could hang out, maybe have a date, you know, like a real couple. Just try to relax a bit, clear our minds." He offered with a shrug.

Devin looked over to Sam who silently mouthed "date", before locking eyes with the man. "I… That would be nice, I guess." She struggled for words as her face flushed when Devin smiled at her flustered, far off response. "I mean, I've never been on a da-" She cut herself off, earning a chuckled response from Devin.

"Neither have I. First time for everything right?" He grinned.

Sam grunted in response, returning to the task at hand, the blush slowly receding from her pale features.

"Don't worry Sam. If you aren't feeling up for it later we can do something else. I'm not about to pressure you into anything. I'm fine hanging out with you too."

This caused Sam to turn to Spencer, she opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it and shook her head. "Thanks… Devin."

Ten minutes later the two were packed, and after double checking that they had everything they needed they moved out. Spencer with a now stuffed backpack and Bishop with a much smaller rucksack. Most of her personal items were back on Adaena in her little hideout in Anbul. As such, she didn't have much to pack, save for a few sets of underwear provided by the IMC and a set of clothes she was able to order for herself after a particularly dull mission patrolling an IMC shipping yard as security detail.

The two walked down one of the retractable ramps leading up to the IMS Eden and chose to forego the usual, provided means of transportation and walk out of the drydock towards the city proper. New Alexia was a large city, it's drydock as well as numerous shipping yards, coupled with its access to natural clean water and acting as a major hub of the transportation grid that spanned most of the planet, had afforded the city copious amounts of income. Glistening towers of glass, metal and concrete stretched into the sky and went on for miles and miles of city blocks. An almost monolithic suspended metro network stretched across the middle of the city, almost like a giant circulatory system, moving people and cargo all across the planet. Within the middle of this opulent display of wealth was the sky tether, a space elevator that stretched all the way into low orbit to one of the planet's main space stations.

Understandably both of the pilots were in awe, at the sight of the bleeding edge of civilization. The two also looked very out of place, many of the people here were in high fashion or sleek, custom tailored business attire. While the two were not poorly dressed by normal standards, they looked like bums in comparison to the citizens around them. As people stepped around the two gawking pilots Spencer grabbed Bishop's hand and led her to one of the nearest information kiosks.

Walking up to an automated touch screen display he thumbed around for a menu that showed the nearest hotel or lodging for them to stay at. Various displays, infographics and advertisements, flashed, pulsed and animated their way across the screen as the directory subsystem booted up. Within moments he was able to find an acceptable hotel a modest distance away from their current location. Nodding to himself he presented his findings to Sam.

"Hey," he called as he tugged on her hand, pulling her wandering attention away from their surroundings and back to Devin. "What do you think?" He asked, nodding towards the large screen that comprised a small portion of the information kiosk they were at.

Sam was silent as she mused over the screen, flipping through various pictures and other related data. "...Looks… fine." She mused, "Distance is a little far though."

"Yeah, I'll get us a ride." Devin replied, glancing at the thirty mile distance to their hotel, a little too far to walk.

In short order the two had found a bright blue taxi to take them to their destination. A seven minute car ride later, followed by payment and a tip had left the two just outside their hotel of choice. The building was very… modern looking, as Sam had pointed out. As much as she hated to admit, there wasn't anything quite as nice looking in the Militia controlled space of the Frontier. Aside from a few choice locations, the IMC had a much nicer, albeit expensive, standard of living. This was something Sam had experienced first hand. Then again what was to be expected of a super corporation who could just throw money at a problem until it was fixed? They liked o flaunt their wealth, and in cities like New Alexia, flaunt they did.

Sam was only pulled from her reverie when the receptionist stated the price of their one month stay.

"A twenty eight day stay at that suite will be fifteen thousand credits sir. Breakfast and room service are included with that booking as well as full use of our attached Spa and pool facilities." The man stated in a practiced cheerful tone.

"F-fifteen thousand?!" Sam parroted, stuttering from the hefty sum of money. "Devin, we can't! That's waaaay to expensive!" She cried out.

He simply smiled, shook his head and proceeded to pay the receptionist. "It's fine. IMC is paying me quite well. My seniority bonuses as well as my Pilot grade pay, campaign pay, on top of hazard and overtime pay gives me quite a large paycheck, not to mention I have nothing to really spend it on, so…" He explained as he was handed his room keys and a pair of pamphlets.

"Wait wait wait… You get paid _overtime_?" She asked incredulously.

"Yeah, EarthGov has banned private corporations having official militaries. So I'm considered a 'private security contractor' therefor, they have to pay me overtime." He explained as they moved for a cluster of elevators down the hall.

"So what, you're super rich or something?" She joked.

"Kinda…? I mean, I could retire after my contract expires and live comfortably somewhere. But I mean, I still want to explore the Frontier, so…" He trailed off with a shrug, Sam simply stared at him incredulously.

The soft ding of the elevator doors parting had ushered the pair out of the small space of the elevator and into a brightly lit hallway, the ceiling above them was a skylight with large windows that took up the entirety of both ends of the hallway, letting ample light bleed into the hall, bathing everything in natural sunlight and crisp shadows. "You got us a room on the top floor? A penthouse?" She asked, equal parts incredulous and excited.

"Yeah, I've never been in one. Figured I would indulge myself." He chuckled, as he opened one of the only four doors on this floor.

The pair of them gasped at the sight they were presented with, a massive L-shaped window that stretched ceiling to floor had displayed the majority of the city until atmospheric fog had blurred out the very ends of the metropolis in a blanket of bluish grey, masking everything but the silhouettes of buildings and mountains in the backdrop.

"So… this is what fifteen thousand credits buys you in a hotel…" Devin whistled.

"The view is amazing…." Sam whispered, walking up to the glass, that separated her from the outside and a five hundred foot drop to the ground below. Gingerly she placed her palm against the glass, deeply appreciating the simple action of admiring the scenery. Something soldiers, let alone pilots, rarely had the chance to do.

Devin grinned, and left Sam to take in the sights in peace. He found the bedroom, a massive bed taking up a large majority of the room. The room had a large holoscreen nearly dominating one wall, with large windows taking up another. He placed his bags down and unpacked his stuff quickly, grateful that he didn't really have much to pack away.

When he went back into the living room Sam was still standing there. Walking up behind her, he hugged her waist, nuzzling into her neck for a moment before whispering into her ear. "I'm feeling hungry. How about I take your bag and we get something to eat?" He muttered suggestively.

She laughed in response. "Stop that!" She giggled out. "Your breath!-It tickles!"

With a playful grin he responded with mischievous intent in his voice. "Oh it does…?" With a wicked grin he moved his hands and splayed his fingers, "How about this!?" He laughed as his fingers danced and wiggled across her stomach and sides.

Bursting into laughter she danced and contorted to his ministrations, her actions masked by a heavy layer of laughter. The sound of a genuinely happy laugh from the woman brought a smile to his face. It matched the personality that she no longer had to hide from him.

Another minute of tickling had left Sam a very giggly woman. Short of breath as she was she struggled to voice for Devin to stop. "Ah-HA HA-Okay! Okay ok-HA HA HA-stop…." She took several deep breaths as he eased up in his relentless tickling. "We can-ha ha-we can go eat."

With a smile he responded, "Okay… You should laugh more by the way. It's beautiful." Devin said a little bashfully.

This caused Sam to blush furiously. "I… um… o-oh." Was all she was able to stammer out, still not used to such comments.

Scooping up her bag which was dropped in the recent bout of tickling, Devin kissed her briefly. "I'll pack your stuff away, think of a place we can go and eat.

With a chuckle she responded, "Will do, hotshot. Don't take to long though. I don't want to come in there to find you sniffing my panties." She joked with her usual smirk on her full lips.

"You don't even wear panties!" He yelled from the bedroom.

"Boyshorts! Whatever!" She snapped back playfully as she browsed one of the pamphlets that was given to them.

A few minutes later Devin returned to Sam, a dopey smile on his face. Sam deadpanned. "You sniffed them didn't you…" She sighed.

"I wasn't going to… but then you told me not to… I couldn't resist." He admitted.

Frowning genuinely she uttered, "You're a pervert, you know that…"

"I'm not even going to deny that." Was all he could think to say.

Sam sighed heavily in response, hands on her hips and a frown upon her face. Only the slightly upward curve of the corners of her mouth relaying the lightheadedness of her serious expression.

"I'm sorry for sniffing your underwear…" He spoke out with an exaggerated regretful tone. "But I am really hungry." He finished in his regular tone of voice, punctuated by a growl from his stomach.

Shaking her head in exasperation he chuckled out an incredulous, "...I swear…". Electing to not finish her train of thought, she instead offered, "Come on then. I have the perfect place picked out."

"...A… burger place?" Devin asked as he angled his head up to glance at the holographic sign placard outside of the establishment.

"What? I'm a simple girl. I enjoy simple things." She shrugged.

"Riiiight. Simple." He mocked playfully, earning another punch in the arm and a glowering stare from Sam.

"Ass." She sulked, only perking up after Devin had profusely and repeatedly offered an apology for his words.

Seating themselves at a booth they didn't have to wait long for someone to take their order. "Welcome to Arnie's! Can I start you two out with something to drink?" The waiter, a young man, energetically asked.

Motioning for Sam to start with her order first, the two looked expectantly to the woman. Unfazed by the sudden attention, she spoke up. "I'll take a cream soda." She said offhandedly, face deep in the menu before her.

Still upbeat, the waiter jotted down her order. "Okay, one cream soda! And for you sir?" He asked, turning his attention over to Devin, who gasped.

"You have cream soda!? I'll have the same, but make mine really large."He said excitedly, earning a laugh from the waiter and a strange look from Bishop.

"W-what?! I really like cream soda…" He muttered, embarrassed.

Sam resigned herself to shaking her head with a smirk upon her face. Chuckling softly to herself as she returned to her menu, she left Devin alone to wallow in his embarrassment.

"Alright, well I'll be right back with your drinks." The waiter said walking away. In the waiter's absence, Devin picked up his own menu.

Perusing the items offered, his eyebrows perked at the mention of pizza. It had been years since he had eaten pizza, before his enlistment. He looked up to Sam, "Hey, you think of what you want?" He asked.

"Yeah. Going to get their bacon deluxe burger." She said with a little sigh as she closed her menu. "How about you?" Sam smiled.

"I was going to get a meat-lovers pizza." He responded, his voice void of the embarrassment he was experiencing earlier. "It's been forever since I've had pizza."

"Fair enough." She grunted.

Moments later the waiter returned with both of their drinks. One was in a regular, tall glass. The other looked like it was poured into a novelty mockery of a regular drinking glass. Much taller and much wider than Sam's glass, however not to the point of being ludicrous. It was impractical to say the least.

With both parties grinning as they received their drinks, they thanked the waiter in unison. This caused a moment of silence to fall over the trio before all three of them burst into a short fit of laughter.

Winding down from his own fit of laughter, the cashier turned to look at both of the pilots before asking, "Any idea for your entrees?"

Nodding and placing down her menu, Sam replied with, "I'll take a bacon deluxe burger-well done, please." She said placing her order. The waiter jotted down her order on a handheld data slate, parroting her words before turning to the other pilot.

"And for you, sir?" The young man asked expectantly.

"I'll take a meat-lovers pizza." Was Devin's response.

"Alright, I'll submit your orders and bring them out to you when they're done." The waiter informed as he collected the various menus from the pair.

A companionable silence fell over the two pilots as the waiter walked off. Sam looked out the window, observing the scenery and the people that passed through the area. Devin on the other hand elected to look about the small diner they were sitting in, admiring the unique clash of rustic and modern designs. Eventually however, both parties were drawn back to their present company.

Sam was first to speak, "So…" she cleared her throat, "...is this uh… is this a… date?" She asked awkwardly, unable to maintain eye contact with the man across from her. This drew out a smirk from Devin.

His smirk turned into a thoughtful expression however as he pondered for a moment. "...Yeah, I guess it is." He replied, smiling.

"Oh, well, this isn't so bad then…"

"What, did you think it was going to be horrible?" Devin asked.

"N-No!" She exclaimed, "It's just, I've never been on a date before, but I was expecting-and I don't really know what I was, but something a little more intimate, romantic." She tried to alleviate the underlying question in Devin's statement.

Slightly crestfallen he defended the situation. "W-well...I mean… proper dates are usually planned out, but I mean-technically this is a date." He replied, trying to to get too flustered and failing spectacularly at that. Sighing, he forced himself to calm down.

Slightly scowling in an attempt to not laugh at the man's reaction she responded with, "It's fine, I mean… This is nice, don't worry about it." She smirked, "Like I said, simple girl."

Taking several gulps of his drink, Devin responded with a bashful, "Thanks, Sam."

"Don't mention it." She responded nonchalantly. "This side of you is cute." She smiled at him. "It's… different from the usual you. You're much more relaxed, not as serious."

Smiling warmly he repeated, "Thanks, Sam." She simply smiled back at him warmly.

They spent the next couple of minutes idly chatting before their food arrived. Their waiter balancing a large tray in one hand, and a stand in the other. Giving both parties their respective orders, he left with a chipper, "enjoy", once again allowing the two to enjoy their company.

Taking a timid bite of literally steaming pizza, Devin let out an orgiastic groan of delight upon experiencing the taste. This of course elicited a strange look from Sam who asked, "You okay there hotshot?" Fighting back a fit of giggles from the blissed out, reminiscent look upon her lover's face.

"I'm sorry, it's been so long since I've had pizza. I almost forgot how much I _loved_ this stuff." He replied back, a reminiscent overcast in his voice.

"Not more than you love me though, right?" She smirked playful, taking delight in the childlike air around him.

He paused for a moment, eyes and brows turned upwards in consideration. "...Hmmm… I think it may be a close second." He smiled back playfully.

"As long as it's second." She laughed, causing Devin to break out in his own small laugh.

The two kept up their small talk and playful jokes and teasing up throughout the entirety of their meals. Sam chose to wait outside while Devin paid the bill, catching the man with a sharp whistle and a wave.

Catching up to the woman, he asked. "So how was it?"

Her confident smirk failed her for just a moment, lapsing into an uncertain, or perhaps nervous grimace, "It was… good." She said with embarrassment. "I look forward to what you have planned later…." She trailed off, a tinge of red upon her features.

He nodded, grunting in affirmation before breathing out a relaxed, "Good, me too."

It was another short trip back to their hotel room, their taxi ride shared in silence, which was only broken to say thanks to the driver who reciprocated the action before driving off. As the sun began to set both Devin and Sam looked upon their view of the city during its twilight hours. The city was aglow with advertisements and lights, giving the collection of glass and concrete an ethereal halo against the painterly setting sky.

"Beautiful." Was Sam's whispered response, staring at the city as night slowly fell upon the city.

Devin took this moment to stand next to Sam, eventually taking her hand up in his own. She tensed up for a moment before relaxing, eventually the two turned their attention from the magnificent view and to each other. Sam blushed when they made eye contact. "Thank you…" He started, flustering when she looked back up at him, "...F-for today. I enjoyed spending time with you. You know, not shooting at people." He smiled.

"Yeah, I had fun." She smirked. Silence fell back over the two again, the entire situation awkward from their intimate proximity to each other. Looking up to Devin, they both broke eye contact before steeling themselves respectively. Sam's blush deepened and while she couldn't tell from his darker pigmentation the expression upon his face was a clear indicator of his own embarrassment. Taking a breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach she pressed her own lips to his. This had obviously taken the man by surprise, briefly stunning him before he recovered.

Returning her ardent display of affection was almost automatic, for a long while their lips were locked in a passionate dance in their display of affection. A display that deepened as both of their tongues were soon involved in the affair. Eventually the two broke away, to take in breaths, both dizzy from their recent passionate lip-locking session. The two smiled at each other, Sam giving a small peck of finality before pulling away.

"W-woah. Okay. That was something." Devin said, slightly far off.

"Something good?" She asked, a playful grin on her features.

"More like amazing." He grinned, sweeping her up in a sudden hug, causing her to give out a surprised peep of noise. "I love you, Sam."

Stunned briefly she responded with a warm smile and a genuine, "I love you too, Devin."

The two elected to cuddle upon the massive couch that framed a section of the penthouse where a giant holoscreen sat against a backdrop of ceiling to floor windows. Moonlight illuminated the entire room in pale blue light and soft shadows. They both shared the tender moment for what seemed like hours, only moving apart when their limbs grew stiff and tired.

Stretching and suppressing the urge to yawn, Sam turned to Devin. "I'm kinda hungry, how about you?" She admitted, placing a hand on her hip as she turned to her lover.

"Uhhhmm… kinda. Not really hungry, but I could go for a snack." He responded as he gave his own stretches. "Got any place in mind?"

"I don't know to be honest." She laughed, "Want to just take a look around the area? I mean, it's pretty early in the night, the sun just set. We have a few hours before it gets dark." She offered.

"Yeah, thats cool." He grunted with finality as he concluded his stretches.

The smile Sam gave him was a mix between eager, grateful and adoration. Soon the two left for food, only to return two hours later, both full and slightly buzzed from alcohol. The two had taken a trip to a local restaurant, both ordering alcoholic beverages. Devin had filled up on appetizers, having to assure Sam on multiple occasions that he wasn't really hungry and appetizers were fine with him.

Plopping down onto the couch and activating the Holoscreen he lazily reclined back as Sam flopped down next to him, leaning her back across his lap to gaze up at him. Laughing playfully, she leaned up to peck him on the lips before saying, "That was fun. Today was awesome." She sighed wistfully.

"You're awesome." He grinned back, returning her peck.

"I know. I'm pretty great." She joked, earning a playful eye roll from Devin, eliciting a laugh from Sam. "Any plans for tomorrow?" She asked as she turned her attention over to the Holoscreen. Devin, her lover, wingman, professional killer and season soldier, had on cartoons. She giggled inwardly, he could be such a child at times.

"We could have our date, maybe go swimming-or sightseeing, maybe hit up a movie afterwards?" He offered, making sure the tone of voice he used, let her know that he was keeping things open, in case she wanted to do something different.

"Sounds good." She mused. Her own attention absorbed by the Holoscreen that had to be at least sixty inches wide. The night dragged on with small pockets of conversation to break up the frequent stretches of long silence. Sometime during their consumption of broadcasted entertainment they had both drifted to sleep.

Consciousness had come late in the morning to rouse both of the undisturbed sleepers. Sam woke as Devin stirred, his legs twitching as his body began to wake up. Rising with a groaned yawn from the man's lap, she rubbed at her eyes. Feeling the weight of eyes on her, she turned to look to Devin.

"Good morning, beautiful." He smiled groggily, still in the process of waking up.

Blushing furiously she bolted up. "Spenc-I mean-Devin! D-did I fall asleep on your lap?" She blurted out nervously, clearly embarrassed. It was obvious she was still nervous or uncomfortable with the idea of being in a relationship. If her normal, outward demeanor was any indicator, it acted as her emotional shield and as such it most likely tried to assert itself wherever possible. Her own attempts to suppress that barrier around him had often left her to a feeling of vulnerability and embarrassment.

"Yeah, its no big deal though." He shrugged, rubbing his legs. "I think my legs are asleep, he chuckled.

"Oh, uh… sorry about that." She grinned nervously.

"No biggie. I can hardly complain when I have a cute girl sleeping in my lap." He chuckled.

With a smile she nodded to Devin, then stood up. Helping him up off the couch he stumbled into her to wrap her in a hug. "I'm hungry. But first I'm going to take a shower. You coming?" He finished, punctuated with a small peck on her neck. Pulling back to look at her properly, he found her smirking again.

"You just want to see me naked again don't you?" She asked with confidence in her voice and a smirk on her face.

Bashfully he responded with a "maybe" as he averted his eyes. This caused Sam to give a short but wholehearted laugh.

"You're cute when you're shy." She said pushing the man back playfully. "Go on, take a shower. I _might_ join you." She told him in her usual tone and demeanor.

True to her words, she did join him, shortly after he stepped into the shower. She took pleasure in his immediate reaction to her nudity. It filled her with pride, seeing that he appreciated her, found her attractive. Soon, washing turned into playful touches and teases which in turn evolved into groping and stopping just short of heavy petting.

They helped scrub each other, each taking care to clean the other thoroughly. Both performed their work with a sensual reverence in their actions. The two spent a long while in the shower. Devin's hands groping at the curves of her body while the two sporadically made out. Sam similarly traced her hands along the toned curves and muscles of his own body, taking in his athletic build with longing grasps.

Sometimes his hands strayed lower, along her thighs or hips, but never to her actual womanhood. She had made it clear earlier that he would have to "earn" that. While he knew she didn't mean that in the sense of an actual award, like something one would win in a contest. He interpreted her words as he would have to wait until she was comfortable and ready to proceed into that kind of a relationship with him. It was understandable, he was able to wait.

Sam appreciated his devotion to her reluctance, he was being considerate, it was touching. Not wanting to be a hypocrite herself, she strayed near but never actually touched his manhood. Sometimes she would elicit a gasp or a muted moan or groan from the man as her hand traveled up and down his thigh occasionally, teasing him.

Eventually teasing became too much for the man as the desperate cast to his words pulled them both from their perpetual cycle of teasing. "S-Sam… Can I take care of this? Please?" He sounded desperate, he _looked_ desperate.

She paused for a minute, mind almost grinding to a halt when she heard him speak. Was he going to masturbate? In front of her? She nodded, snapping herself out of her stunned state of mind.

With a look of gratitude he turned away from her, so his right side was facing her. This pulled a look of confusion to Sam's face, to which he responded with a quick sideways glace, "I figured you didn't want it on you."

"...O-Oh, ummm… right." She stuttered.

She watched as his right hand pressed against the wall to support his weight, and his left grasp his manhood. The water acting as lubricant made the affair into a vulgar sounding symphony of wet shlicks, barely audible over the sound of the shower. She watched captivated as he firmly pumped his hand around what she estimated to be eight inches of manhood, with nearly languid strokes, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. This continued for a solid minute or two, his breaths becoming heavy and laborious before his breathing hitched a few times as he approached his own plateau of orgasm. With soft, muted orgiastic groans his ejaculate splattered against the wall in several large pulses of ivory before being washed away by the downpour of water from the showerhead. He took a few deep breaths as he rinsed his hands off, cleaning them of some of his stray seed that managed to coat his hands.

She watched as his dick twitched a few times as it hung heavily between his legs, half-erect. He glanced up to her a look equal parts shame and embarrassment upon his features. "S-Sorry…" He apologized.

"For what?" She asked with a kind softness that was rare, even from this side of her. "I mean I was teasing you a lot, and you've mentioned that you find me attractive. It's okay." Giving him a chaste kiss on the lips she continued, voice taking on a sultry tone. "Besides, that was pretty hot...:" She winked to him, looking down as his penis twitched before gaining a few inches and firmness, becoming erect once again.

"As much as I love your willpower, I'm not looking to test the limits of that, at least for now." She teased, "I'll give you some time to yourself, I'm going to get dressed." She said as she parted from him, stepping out of the shower and toweling off.

In short order he was also out of the shower. They had burned a good half hour, fooling around and were now in time for an early lunch. This changed their earlier plans of breakfast, but only by redirecting their choice of venues which were not lacking in variety.

"You know… That was pretty hot." She commented as the two shared a lunch, causing Devin the cough mid swallow of a fruit smoothie.

Shooting her a quick glare, he choked out, "You tease." between a series of coughs.

Shooting back a confident smirk, she placed her arms behind her on top of the booth seat, accentuating her ample bosom chest thrusting at the man.

His glare intensified, his frown deepening. "You're doing that on purpose…"

She let out a muted laugh that trailed off into a content sigh. Looking out a window to her left. This left the shaved and scared portion of her face to Devin. "Y'know I love you. You treat me like I'm normal, you think I'm pretty… you don't ask me to change." She said softly as she gazed out the window. "You… you mean so much to me… fuck. I can't even put it into words." She chuckled to herself, turning back to a very confused Devin. Moisture pooled in her eyes. "Before you get confused-I know I've said I love you, but I don't think I've told you how important you are to me." She smiled, "I just wanted to let you know s'all." She wiped her eyes, smiling.

Unaware of what the correct response to such a situation, he responded with a genuine smile and a muttered, "Thanks, Sam. I'm glad you think of me the same way I think of you."

She smiled briefly before lapsing back into her self-confident smirk. "Enough of that, yeah? I'm not good with that sappy shit." She muttered.

"So you want to hit up the movie theaters or go swimming?" He asked as they finished their food.

"As much as you would probably love to see me in a bikini… I would rather watch a movie." She said a teasing grin on her face.

"Fair enough."

The two watched a fictitious movie set in the Titan Wars. The movie revolved around a legendary pilot who withstood daunting odds, escorting a group of stranded soldiers to safety. The lone pilot had taken down other titans, countless tanks and armored vehicles and infantry like it was going out of style. As pilots themselves, the movie was... interesting to say the of the scenes were unrealistic, even by Titan War era standards. One scene in particular had the main character take on about four squads worth of soldiers and three armored vehicles with nothing but his jumpkit and an old G2A2.

Of course the two snickered at the scene which was early on in the movie, which had prompted the two to disregard the movie. They spent a fair majority of the movie doting on each other, littering each other with affectionate kisses and pecks on the cheek. Sometimes they chose to make out, they found each other's company much more interesting than the movie. As the two vacated the theaters as the end credits began to roll, they both decided to return to their hotel room.

Electing to forego snacks at the theaters, since both of them were rather full after their lunch had left the two of them rather peckish. "Want to go out in maybe an hour or two? I have some plans for us this evening." Devin asked as they entered the penthouse suite they were currently renting out.

"You do?" She smirked.

"Yeah. There is a ferry down on the pier that takes us across the city. When we get off, we can visit the carnival." He looked to her as he laid his plans for the night out in the open for her.

She paused, considering his plans. "What, you figured since I enjoyed the last carnival we went to that I would enjoy this one?" She frowned slightly. Sam watched as Devin began to speak up before cutting him off by speaking first. "Well, I would." She smiled bursting into laughter when he gave a confused, yet relieved look.

"...Uhh, well… Consider it our date." She had a slight tinge of red but otherwise stay composed.

"A-alright." Forcing the embarrassed grin of her features, she asked, "Should I dress nicely?"

"If you want. I mean it might look out of place at a carnival though."

She frowned at herself. "Oh, right."

A night of dinner under moonlight upon the ferry, carnival games and rides had culminated in the pair boarding a Ferris Wheel. As the two slowly reached the top they began to talk.

"Y'know… This reminds me of when my uh… my dad… would take us to fairs and stuff." She said as she watched the moon's reflection shimmer and dance across the surface of the bay.

"'Us'?" Devin was obviously confused.

"My brother and sister, we would all go to the fair when it came into town." She explained. "We would always have so much fun. This was back when we lived together, in the core. It's a small handful of the good memories I have of my family." She sighed wistfully. "I'm glad you can do the same. Draw out some of that childhood happiness." She smiled, attempting but not quite able to maintain eye contact.

Devin smiled. "Thank you. For sharing that with me. For being here tonight." He replied.

"There is no place I'd rather be tonight, Devin." She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they crested the apex of the Ferris Wheel's circle. They shared a tender, chaste kiss before spending the rest of the ride in each other's arms.

Their ride back to the hotel included a silent but companionable ferry ride, followed by a blessedly shorter ride by taxi to their hotel room. As they entered their room, undressed and began to share a shower, Sam broke the comfortable silence between the two of them to say, "Devin. I… I-thank you, for tonight it was wonderful."

"I'm glad…" He smiled as he trailed off, he had an apprehensive look upon his face as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I know that look," Sam said, "You got something on your mind don't you?" She smirked, nudging him.

This caused him to break into a smile. "Yeah…" he looked to her as she smiled back. "I was just thinking that, if I had to spend the rest of my life with someone, I would want it to be you." He started out confidently, slowly turning more and more embarrassed as his sentence went on.

"I… oh." She said, staring down at the floor. She was silent for a moment.

Devin silently began to panic, worrying if he had said something wrong, overstepped his bounds. She spoke up before his panic began to compound itself.

"I'm…" She paused looking for the right words. "...Relieved, that you feel the same way I do. I know our relationship has moved kind of fast, ever since it's been official… but I'm glad to hear those words."

"You're not just saying that because it's what I want to hear, are you?" He muttered with a tinge of hope in his voice.

"No… I'm not." She smiled warmly. "I really mean it. I love you." A short kiss later they concluded their shower with their usual playful gropes and teases. As the two of them glanced at the time on the wall, notifying them it was one in the morning they both decided that they should probably get to sleep.

Shortly after entering the bed however they both grew restless. Devin turned to Sam who smiled at him. Sharing a short kiss, the man spoke up in the dim lighting. "Can't sleep huh?" He asked.

"I was just about to ask the same, hotshot." She smirked back. "I mean it is kind of hard to sleep when your lover is naked next to you."

"You're not the one who is hard."

"Oh?" Sam asked, snaking her hand down to his crotch to find that he indeed was erect. Instead of pulling her hand away like Devin had expected however, she softly adjusted her grip. Gently, she shifted her hand back and forth. "This is how you did it, right?" She asked, looking up from his penis to find his eyes closed softly.

Feeling the weight of her expectant stare he looked at her. "Y...yes." He breathed out. God her hand was divine. While it wasn't exceedingly soft-it was impossible to have a profession such as theirs and maintain such a softness-the gentle, careful ministrations she performed more than made up for it.

Not wanting to have her left out he pressed his hand to her lightly defined, well toned stomach and slowly moved his hand down to the delta between her legs. She stiffened at the contact, but offered no other forms of resistance. Taking that as his cue to continue, he slowly, delicately began to massage the outer lips to her sex, hand occasionally running over the little bead of her clitoris. Eventually she relaxed with a soft whimper of pleasure. Her hands moved to his shoulders, gripping them as her legs squeezed his invading hand, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

With a contradictory, girly almost whimpered sigh, she spoke his name. "D-Devin…" Her grip tightened as the dewy cleft between her legs redoubled in moisture. Her breath quickened as she let a moan slip that she could no longer hope to hold back. He kept up the groping and massaging of her sex even as he slipped a lone finger in to probe her moist depths. This caused another pulse of wetness from the woman, her own sexual discharge to splatter against his palm. He grip on him redoubled, her finger digging into his shoulder as her legs threatened to crush his invading hand.

She twitched like this for a few moments before he relaxed slightly, Devin slowly bringing her down from her sexual high. When her eyes opened she was met with a mirthful smile from her lover. Kissing the man deeply she rolled the two of them over, so she was straddling his waist, lips locked to his.

When the two parted he uttered a soft, "I love you, Samantha…"

She paused, momentarily stunned from hearing her full name. She smiled, she liked the way he said it, "I love you, Devin." She kissed him again, as she reached a hand back to grab his dick, even as she lifted her own hips to do so.

The tip of his length kissed her engorged outer labia, the lips slightly puffy, slick and taking on a pinkish hue. Her recent orgasm had left her slick enough for her to ease partway onto him. She stopped when there was a slight resistance. Steeling herself as Devin began to ask, "Wait, Samantha are you a-" and forcing herself down with a slightly pained gasp that lapsed into a moan as she hilted herself with a clap of flesh on flesh. She winced in discomfort, grinding her hips into his.

Tears of happiness worked their way down her face as she smiled down at him. "Yes." She answered his early question kissing him softly. His own emotional tears had made the moment special for her, not to mention the very act of giving her virginity to the man. As she began to move her hips with a slow but steady rise and fall she watched as his face displayed the raw, uninhibited pleasure he was feeling. After what could only be a few pistons of her hips however his face tensed slightly as his body sort of heaved and clenched. The throbbing of his penis inside of her was the only other warning she got before a feeling of thick warm liquid invaded her depths.

She gasped at the sensation, looking to Devin's blissed out, but apologetic face. "Sorry, it was my first time too…" He said, causing a fluttering within the woman's prodigious chest. She captured his lips with her own, tongues dancing as she rocked her hips back and forth.

Seeing as how his erection wasn't flagging she continued. He placed his hands on her wide, flared hips as she humped away. His eyes roaming cyclically from his crotch, where they were joined, to her chest and then her face. Eyes drawn to her partially erect nipples he placed his mouth upon one of the teats of her well endowed chest and suckled gently. The normally inverted nipples were slightly puffy. While the areola was only a few shades darker than her skin and fit within the palm of his hand, they did an excellent job highlighting the needy buds on her chest.

Her back arched from the action, her soft, muted moans keying up an octave. Not wanting to be one to simply lie there and take it, he began to thrust back into the woman. Her heavy ass clapping into his crotch with every upward thrust he made to meet her downward stroke. As their lovemaking wore on, she grew progressively wetter. Soon, thin strands of her excitement bridged their crotches in an intricate web.

Throughout the night the two of them had switched between several positions, varying degrees of intensity and had both orgasmed multiple times. Both exhausted, as the sun began to peek over the horizon the two of them fell asleep, Sam on her stomach with Devin on top of her, dick still snugly lodged within the tight, warm depths of her vagina.

When the two roused it was from Devin's morning wood, hours later. Sam giggled at his predicament, allowed him to pump in and out her which had turned into another short session of love making. As the two entered the shower, a slurry of sexual juices streaming from her depths, they shared a short kiss. The two tenderly helped each other get clean. As they found out last night, they both had quite the libido, and once that dam had been broken they tried not to have every moment they shared turn into a bout of sex.

"Sam. Last night… I didn't have a condom… And I came inside you quite a few times…" She could tell from the tone of his voice he was worried.

She smiled, "Then we will just have to hope won't we?" She kissed him. At the confused look he shot back at her, she relented. "Relax, hotshot, I've been taking contraceptives ever since I first joined the Militia, can never be too careful. Besides, I didn't see you complaining when you were trying…" She teased.

Relaxing he responded with, "Oh." At a loss for words he rubbed his neck. "I'm glad. Don't get me wrong, I would love to have kids with you, but it would have to wait for when we're done with this."

"With what?" She asked as she washed what remained of her hair.

"Being pilots, soldiers." He explained. "You can't be a soldier and a parent. It doesn't work out that way… for obvious reasons."

"I'm glad we both agree on that." She said as flipped her hair behind her to rinse it out. He grunted in agreement, pecking her on the forehead before stepping out and toweling off.

For the rest of their shore leave the two had spent time together. Occasionally they met back up with their squad for drinks of a meal. The had some form of sexual contact almost daily, both of them insatiable. On more than one occasion they basically did nothing but have sex, watch the holoscreen or play videogames, usually while having sex, and have room service delivered. When their shore leave was finished it was to everyone's disappointment. The crew and servicemen and women had enjoyed their breaks, and while they didn't want them to end, there was solace in returning to the familiar.

The IMS Eden looked much better. The ship had the majority of its plating replaced, it was repainted, featured bigger, more powerful engines, an overhauled weapons system and a small onboard factory for producing the latest Titans made by Hammond Robotics.

The Eden and her crew had spent the next two months patrolling IMC space deeper in the core of the frontier. They did this as General Marder and his Ares Division fought out on the frontlines of the frontier. News was that they would soon make plans to move on to an IMC research facility on Typhon to further develop technology to combat the Militia. Spencer didn't care however, his contract with the IMC would expire by the end of March. Specifically on his birthday on the 31st. He had made plans with Bishop as to buy a frigate or a cargo hauler and see the Frontier. He still wanted to explore, take in the sights and the experiences. Due to her own contract being tied to his own she was in a position to accept his offer, which she did so eagerly.

At the end of the month he received his final paycheck and was dropped off at the next port the Eden had to dry dock at. Bidding his squad members farewell, and promising to keep in touch he left the IMC.

The two eventually found a relatively small freighter, the size of a small skyscraper. It was a junker, sold for dirt cheap by a local scrap yard. The two used their checks to update and repair the ship to a great extent. Giving their new home enough armor and weapons to classify as a heavy warship and engines to rival a corvette's they took off to the stars.

Sam had requested to visit Anbul, to retrieve her stuff, which luckily was still there. The two marveled at the city. The majority of the damage from a few months prior was fixed, only small cleaning crews lingered about, performing inspections and repairing any minor damages. Moving her belongings had taken a few weeks, as well as selling her little hideout. As the autopilot charted them a path for takeoff, the two enjoyed each other's company. Eventually this developed into a passionate round of sex and the two of them spending the rest of the day in their birthday suits as they walked around the ship.

"Hey, Sam." Devin said as he looked over his shoulder from the navigation chair on the tiny bridge of their ship. He had to make a conscious effort to not openly ogle her breasts, they had grown slightly in size, after they had left the IMC, bumping them up to solid E-Cups. She had gained a little weight, in all the right areas is Devin was to be asked. Of course he never really brought the subject up, she was still fit, both of them were, they hadn't completely given up their profession as pilots.

"Yeah, what's up hotshot?" She smiled at him, noticing the slight stirring in his crotch, he was ogling her again.

"I was thinking, maybe we could become scavengers while we're out here. It's gotta be safer than being freelance. Less chance of getting shot." He offered as he began to turn back to the console.

The soft padding of her feet on composite decking trailed behind him as she approached the back of his chair, breasts resting on top of his head. She could tell he was smiling. "What? Don't want to help these people anymore?"

"I still want to help… I just… I don't want to lose you." He said. "We can sell what we scavenge from battlefields, bases, whatever gets left behind. There is valuable technology out there that can be useful to those affected by this petty war." He sighed.

"It's a good idea…" She said as she turned his chair around, "Give me some time to think on it, okay?"

"Don't blow me off this time?" He joked.

"Hey that was an accident, I had totally forgotten okay!" She cried back. Her expression then turned sultry. "Besides, I thought you liked it when I blowed you…" She began as she sank down, taking up his length in her hand.

Her impromptu blowjob turned into another bout of passionate sex that started in the bridge and worked its way back to their bedroom. In the halls sounds of moans, exaltations and the sound of flesh impacting flesh echoed down the hallways and throughout the ship. Some days were actually productive, others were like this. Not that either of them complained, she had enjoyed this addiction just as much as he did. And they would indulge in their addiction frequently, wherever possible. Within the halls of the ship, in the galley, in the cockpit of a titan, the bathroom, the shower, there was no shortage of locations the two had gotten overly affectionate. Despite this, they never grew tired of their company. This wasn't to say their relationship was perfect, both both argued, fought, said things they didn't mean and later they would make up.

And as their lovemaking had wound down the two found themselves entangled with each other as they dozed off. Devin awoke to an empty bed. Not a rare occasion, sometimes Sam would get up to shower or eat, or do something around the ship. He wasn't concerned until he had entered the bathroom. It was well furnished, quite large for a ship, which was to be expected on a citizen class freighter, still the note on the mirror was not a good sign. With a growing pit of dread he read the paper attached to the reflective surface by a single strip of adhesive tape. He read,

"Devin,

I know this isn't how you expected to wake up. I know this is unfair, and wrong, and I am sorry. I thought about what you said, becoming a scavenger. It's a great idea, really, it is. But it isn't for me. I know you're concerned about my safety, and I'm concerned about yours. I'm rambling, I've never really written a letter before.

I'm leaving to rejoin the militia, just to clear some of your worry, I won't be with the MCOR. The SRS division is looking for talented pilots. I figured it's right up my alley. I've taken one of the Titans, and piloted the ship to Harmony. By the time you read this hopefully I've had enough time to get a head start.

I don't want us to argue. I don't want my last memory of you to be sad. I promise I'll be safe, so I can return, if you will still have me. This is a weird way to fuck up our marriage right? Anyways, I hope you keep yourself safe, please do not come looking for me. I couldn't bear the pain of meeting you to talk about this. That is why I wrote this letter. If you ever want to talk to me, send a letter to the SRS, they'll make sure I get it. Till next we meet again.

Forever Faithful,

Samantha"

He sniffled, wiped his eye and moved out the bathroom. He got dressed and moved into one of the cargo bays. They had converted the space to allow for drop pods and Titan pods to be deployed. True to her words, her Titan, the giant black and red Ogre-Class Scorch was gone. He felt his heart drop, he felt like crying. Understandably, he felt as if a large part of him was gone, and all that filled the void was numbness. He looked down to the ring on his hand and pulled it off, placing it on the same necklace that held the dog tags he kept from the IMC. He would rather keep his reminder of her close to heart than on hand at all times.

With a heavy, tired sigh he sank into the captain's chair of the ship. He sat for what felt like hours, his appetite and drive to do anything long gone. Eventually he roused himself out of his mire of negativity. This was still her home and she said she would return. With a heavy sigh he plotted a course for the nearest contested territory in the frontier. He would have to cope with the loss of his lover, however temporary that may be. Steeling himself with a confident grin, he prepared his Titan for drop as he waited for the combat to die down, after all he a whole new frontier to explore.

END


End file.
